


Like a Thunderbolt He Falls

by Ael



Series: Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations [3]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - X-Men Fusion, Gen, Not Beta Read, Section 31, Star Trek: Into Darkness, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:19:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 27,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8516455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ael/pseuds/Ael
Summary: One year after Captain Kirk assumes command of the Enterprise, the Federation is rocked by a terrorist attack. In their efforts to bring the man responsible to justice, the crew of the Enterprise discover that the sinister plot goes far, far deeper than one man.A rewrite of Star Trek Into Darkness, in a universe where mutants and carriers serve in Starfleet.





	1. Destruction

Even in the twenty-third century, even with all the mutant powers the x-gene has brought forth in humanity, human life always ends.

 

Lieutenant Thomas Harewood knows this better than most. At age fourteen, he discovers that he has the power to see death. That if he touches anyone, any time, he will see a vision of their demise. And almost without exception, every single vision comes true. He drives himself to the brink of hysteria trying to prevent them. He tries everything he can think of to stop his mother from getting into the shuttle accident. He pleads with his father not to go into deep space. But they never listen. Maybe they cannot. And so, they die.

 

He becomes a Starfleet data archivist, locking himself away from casual human contact, finding solace in numbers and facts. Pieces of the past, things that have already come and gone, not horrible glimpses of what most likely cannot be averted.

 

And that is when he meets Rima. He accidentally touches her hand one day and sees her dying, old and content, in a bed surrounded by what must be generations of her family. And a part of him wants to share that, wants that kind of happy ending so badly that within two years, they are married and have a child on the way. The first of many, he hopes.

 

The first time he touches his daughter, he is horrified.

 

Lucille Harewood will die at age six. She will slowly waste away, ravaged by a disease that has no known treatment. And all Thomas will be able do is watch.

 

Maybe, he thinks in desperation, maybe there is a cure somewhere. Sometimes his visions aren't always right; sometimes there is a way to change it, however slim. The hope carries the couple around the galaxy to different doctors, different specialists, even Vulcan healers, who all give the same answer. There is nothing to be done. Her symptoms may be managed, but eventually, she will die. It is inevitable. Even for twenty-third century medicine.

 

And so it goes. Lucille is admitted to hospital in London, near Thomas's workplace, and he slowly watches the life drain away from her, knowing that it will not be long. She would celebrate her seventh birthday fifty-eight days from now. But she won't. And he despairs.

 

Until one day he hears the words he has waited to hear for the last six years: "I can save her."

 

The man does not give his name. Does not say if he is a doctor, or a scientist, or even an old-fashioned folk healer. Thomas does not care. If there is the slightest chance that this is true, he will take it.

 

"How?"

 

The man's tanned face stretches in an odd smile as if it's unaccustomed to such movement. "I can provide you with a serum. But you must do something for me in exchange. And you cannot tell anyone."

 

"Anything." Thomas does not hesitate to agree. His little girl's life is worth any price.

 

The smile sharpens, predatory, and part of Thomas realizes that he has made a horrible mistake.

 

"I will contact you in twenty-four hours," the man says, turning away. "And you will follow my instructions, or there will be no cure for your daughter."

 

Exactly one day later, a package arrives with no return address. Inside the silver flask is a tube filled with red fluid, dark like blood, and a Starfleet graduation ring. There is a simple note written on old-fashioned paper in ink. _Wear the ring. Go to work. Drop the ring in a glass of water._

 

It is a simple request. Easy to follow, easy to do, but something is very wrong. And Thomas knows it, but cannot bring himself to report it. His daughter will die. His wife will be devastated. And there will be no future for the man who sees death everywhere he goes.

 

So he goes to the hospital, infuses the vial into Lucille's medications. Watches as her vital signs climb out of the red and into solid green for the first time in three years, watches her take her first deep breaths in eleven months, watches as she is pulled back from the brink of death. And when he kisses her forehead now, he sees her with grey in her hair, dying peacefully of a sudden heart attack in her sleep.

 

It's all he ever wanted.

 

The man is watching him from the street below, his dark eyes sending only one message. _Follow my instructions, or this can easily be undone._

 

Thomas reports to the Kelvin Memorial Archive, the ring weighing heavily on his finger. He passes his coworkers, avoiding touching any of them. They smile and nod, going about their daily tasks as if everything was normal. As if nothing unusual could ever happen here.

 

But Lucille Harewood will not die at age six.

 

Thomas sits down at his workstation, a glass of water at his elbow, and opens a text document. He will carry out the man's request so his daughter may live. But he will not do so in silence. He is an officer of Starfleet, and he will perform his final duty.

 

Tears stream down his cheeks as he sends the message, addressed to the Head of Starfleet, and knows that he will never find out what happens next. He has never been able to see his own death.

 

He takes a deep breath, and drops the ring into the water.

 

The explosion is felt from five miles away as the Starfleet data archive in London detonates violently, a massive fireball overtaking downtown and incinerating everything in its path. Outside the blast radius, Rima Harewood watches from the hospital window in horror as her husband's workplace goes up in smoke, the entire building leveled in an instant. Behind her, Lucille's vital signs grow stronger as she sleeps.

 

And on the other side of the planet, John Harrison watches the news with a smile on his face. Soon, it will all be over.


	2. Recruit

"Captain Kirk."

 

Kirk awakes in his dark quarters at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. Beneath him, the familiar thrumming tells him that the _Enterprise_ is at warp, presumably still headed back to Earth after their most recent survey mission. He frowns into the darkness, seeing a shadow at the foot of his bed. "Computer, lights, fifty percent."

 

"I'm afraid I can't allow that, captain," the shadowed figure says kindly, and the rest of the sleepy fog in Kirk's head clears with a jolt of adrenaline as he realizes the computer hasn't responded.

 

Kirk surges to his feet, dropping into a defensive posture as the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "Who are you?" he demands, drawing on every ounce of command presence he's cultivated over the past year. "How did you get in here?"

 

"My identity is not important," the figure says, and there's something about the voice that makes it impossible to tell if he's speaking to a man, a woman, some other gender... even what species they might be. A voice scrambler? Must be fairly advanced if so; Kirk's never heard of one that's managed to nail a generic voice so precisely. "I represent an organization that is very interested in obtaining your services."

 

"Not interested," Kirk answers immediately, and takes a step toward the intruder, raising his fists a little higher. "You're gonna sit right there while I call security. Understood?"

 

The intruder sighs as if they'd expected resistance. "Captain, please. I wish only to talk."

 

Kirk isn't buying it, and he moves over to the comm unit on his desk, navigating his quarters by memory. "Kirk to security." There's no answer, and his frown deepens. "Kirk to bridge." No reply.

 

He wheels on the intruder, fury building. "Who the hell do you think you are? Are you seriously doing this right now?"

 

The intruder hasn't moved an inch, standing almost at attention, almost invisible against the darkness of the room. "I am here to make you an offer, captain, nothing more. Let me have my say, and then when I am finished, you may call whoever you like."

 

"Screw you." Kirk moves to take down the intruder, ready to slug them across the jaw, if they have one.

 

"So be it," the intruder says, and there's a flash of light from something in their hands. A moment later, Kirk hits the floor face-first. No matter what he does, his muscles refuse to respond, lying limply on the carpet and unable to see anything but shadows. His rage flickers, giving way to some measure of fear. "That's better," the intruder says above him, unseen. "Now that you're in a more amenable mood, please listen to what I have to say. You serve Starfleet adequately in capacity as the captain of the _Enterprise_ , but there is far more that you could do with your life, your career, your skills. I represent a shadow branch of Starfleet called Section Thirty-One."

 

_Never heard of it,_ Kirk wants to say, but his mouth isn't cooperating either and all that comes out is an incoherent moan. All he can do is stare at the intruder's boots, inches from his face.

 

"Think of us as a more advanced arm of Intelligence. We research defense technology and gather intel on potential threats against the Federation," the intruder continues, as if Kirk had asked to know more. "You would not need to alter your duties in any way to serve us, nor would we require your reassignment. We simply ask that you send your reports to us on a secured channel, using, shall we say, considerably more detail than you include on your official logs. And on occasion, we may ask you to undergo specific tasks on your missions, for the benefit of the Federation of course."

 

There's a creak of leather as the intruder crouches down next to Kirk's head, and there's a jolt of pain in his jaw as the shadowed figure zaps him in the face. "So, captain. What do you say?"

 

His arms and legs still won't respond, but to his relief, Kirk finds that his mouth is working again. He doesn't need to consider his answer. "Go to hell," he slurs out.

 

"As you wish." The intruder straightens. "The paralytic will wear off in about ten minutes. I suggest you use that time to reconsider our offer. We will be in touch. Farewell, captain."

 

There's a strange sound, like a balloon popping, and a momentary stench of what Kirk swears is gunpowder. And then the intruder is gone, leaving Kirk lying on the floor of his quarters alone and furious. "Computer!" he says as clearly as he can manage. "Call Doctor McCoy."

 

To his relief, this time the computer does as it is commanded, and whistles as the connection is made. " _Jesus Christ, what?_ " McCoy groans, his voice rough with sleep. " _This better be good._ "

 

"Bones, I can't move," Kirk says, getting right to the point. "Someone attacked me in my quarters. Get security."

 

McCoy lets out a truly impressive string of profanities, and the audio feed picks up the sound of sheets violently being thrown to the floor. " _Be there in a minute._ "

 

"Not going anywhere," Kirk replies, but the connection is already closed, and all he can do is sit and wait.

 

The door slides open with its customary hiss as McCoy uses his medical override. The lights snap on, and there's a far too familiar whirring sound as the doctor waves a tricorder over him. Apparently satisfied that his patient can be moved without hurting him, McCoy rolls Kirk over on his back, looking a bit disturbed that the captain is allowing himself to be manhandled so easily. "What the hell happened?"

 

"Some kind of stun gun," Kirk says, and wishes he could get the hell up already. But nope, his body's still doing its very best dead fish impression. "Is security here?"

 

"Yes sir," two voices answer in chorus from the doorway. "Lieutenants Hendorff and Giotto reporting, captain," one of them adds, and Kirk recognizes the voice as good old Cupcake, from the now-infamous brawl in Riverside.

 

"The intruder's a teleporter," Kirk says, raising his voice so they can hear him better. "Never got a good look at their face, but we're at warp so they have to still be on the ship. Find out who doesn't have an alibi from the last five minutes and detain them until we can narrow it down. Get going."

 

"Yes, sir." Two sets of footsteps fade as the security officers move off to carry out his orders.

 

"You in any pain?" McCoy asks, frowning at his tricorder.

 

"Nope," Kirk says, gritting his teeth. "Just mad as _hell_. Our 'guest' says this'll last another ten minutes but they said a _lot_ of bullshit."

 

"Well, the good news is, I think they were telling the truth about that part anyway. You've had some kind of shock to your entire nervous system but it's wearing off. You're already talking better than you were when you called me." McCoy grabs the pillow from Kirk's bed and shoves it under his head. "You've also got one hell of a black eye. Did they hit you?"

 

"No, that was the floor," Kirk admits, a bit embarrassed. "Couldn't break my fall."

 

"Go figure. What the hell did they want anyway?" McCoy scans Kirk again, but his condition must be improving because the doctor draws up his legs underneath himself and settles in to wait for the captain's paralysis to wear off.

 

"If you can believe it, they wanted to recruit me for black ops," Kirk answers without hesitation. Seriously, _fuck_ those guys and their secrets. "Some secret branch of Starfleet called Section Thirty-One. I said no. A couple of times." He concentrates really hard on trying to move, and manages a single finger twitch. Hey, progress. "Though why they had to do it in the middle of the night is anyone's guess."

 

There's a whistle indicating an incoming transmission, and McCoy reaches over to slap the comm on Kirk's desk. "McCoy here."

 

" _Doctor,_ " Spock's voice responds, though if he is surprised to hear McCoy answer instead of Kirk, he doesn't let on. " _Security has finished their sweep of the ship. It has been reported to me that all personnel are accounted for in their appropriate locations, and ship's sensors detect no additional life signs aboard._ "

 

"Any ships nearby, Spock?" Kirk asks, managing to lift his head briefly. "Anything close enough that a teleporter could make the gap without using the transporter?"

 

" _Negative, captain,_ " Spock answers smoothly, having anticipated that also. " _If there is such a vessel in proximity to the Enterprise, it is cloaked beyond the capacity of our sensors to detect._ "

 

"Shit." Not a very captainly response, but Kirk couldn't care less right now. "Put the ship on yellow alert. All personnel are to keep a lookout for anyone acting suspicious or any gear out of place. I doubt we'll find anything but I'm not going to take any chances."

 

" _Agreed. Spock out._ "

 

Kirk growls and forces his hand into a loose fist. "Wish I'd been able to punch the bastard before they zapped me. This sucks, Bones."

 

"You'll be fine," McCoy says patiently. "Just give it time. You're doing better already. If the intruder's still on board, Spock'll find 'em." He gets out his tricorder and scans Kirk again. "You should be good to go in a few more minutes."

 

Before Kirk can answer, there's another whistle. " _Bridge to Captain Kirk,_ " Uhura's voice comes through the comm speaker.

 

"Bones, can you...?" Kirk asks. McCoy obligingly slaps the comm again, and gives him an eyeroll and a thumbs up. "Kirk here."

 

" _Captain, urgent message from Starfleet Command. There's been some kind of terrorist attack on Earth. You and Commander Spock are ordered to report to Daystrom Conference Room at Starfleet Headquarters as soon as we establish orbit._ "

 

Terrorist attack? Kirk meets McCoy's eyes, both wearing identical expressions of alarm and confusion. "Uhura, how far out are we?"

 

" _We'll be dropping out of warp in fifteen minutes, sir._ "

 

"Awesome. Thanks." Just enough time to get back on his feet and slap on his dress uniform. Not exactly how he'd expected to spend the early hours of the morning. But then, things rarely have the courtesy to go along with the captain's plans.


	3. Massacre

Starfleet Headquarters is going to give Admiral Pike a humdinger of a headache.

 

The old admiral limps through the corridors, leaning heavily on his cane. One year after Nero's damned interrogation bugs wrecked his nervous system, at least he's walking again. But instead of flying a starship, now he's flying a desk. And today that means the unfortunate duty of attending what may very well end up being a war council, led by the head of Starfleet himself.

 

Starfleet is full of highly disciplined minds. But that doesn't mean that Pike won't feel their anxieties, their fears, their anger. And it's coming from all directions, every floor, surrounding him in a cloud of negative emotions. For a less experienced empath, it might be too much to bear.

 

But Pike just sets his mental shields as strong as he can make them and soldiers on, toward the conference room.

 

"Admiral!"

 

He knows the voice the moment he hears it, and even through his shields, he can feel the brightness that is Captain James T. Kirk approaching behind him. "Captain," he throws over his shoulder. "Glad you could join the party."

 

Kirk catches up and falls in step with him, his Vulcan first officer at his side, a half-step behind. Good guard position. Pike frowns when he notices Kirk's stride is a little off, and when he turns his head, the admiral can see he's got one hell of a shiner. "You getting into bar brawls again?"

 

"No, sir," Kirk says, and there's a strange cold anger simmering under the surface that never makes it to his face. But the captain is nothing if not professional. "I'll tell you about it after we're done here. I could use some advice, actually."

 

Pike considers that, and the strange emotions Kirk is giving off. Something is bothering the young captain, something that has nothing to do with this terrorist attack. "I'd be happy to help, if I can."

 

"Thank you, sir." Kirk means it, no hint of cockiness present in his attitude. His thoughts are clearly still occupied in part by whatever's troubling him, but now that they've spoken, Pike can feel him turning that razor-sharp focus toward the situation at hand. Good man.

 

The three of them enter the conference room, already occupied by several captains and their first officers. Admiral Vel-Alexander Marcus, Head of Starfleet, sits at the unambiguous head of the table, his own emotions an island of stoic focus, rigidly held under control without a hint of panic or anxiety, strong enough to make a Vulcan proud. It's a welcome relief from the emotions the rest of the building's occupants are broadcasting. "Sir," Pike greets him with a nod, and takes his seat. Kirk doesn't hesitate to claim the seat to Pike's right, and Spock of course follows suit, their backs to the large window overlooking San Francisco.

 

Marcus doesn't waste any time. "Thank you for convening on such short notice," he addresses the room at large. "By now, some of you have heard what happened in London. The target was a Starfleet data archive; now it's a damned hole in the ground." His emotions don't waver a bit as he coldly lays out the facts. "Forty-two men and women are dead. One hour ago, I received a message from a Starfleet officer who confessed to carrying out this attack, and that he was being forced to do it by this man, Commander John Harrison."

 

In front of everyone at the table, an image pops up on their padds. Pike studies the image, not recognizing the man. The officer is dark-skinned, perhaps hailing from the Earth region of India, or one of the Centaurian colonies. His hair is longer than Starfleet regulations allow, which is odd, although he is in civilian clothing in this photo. It's hard to tell through a still image, but Pike gets the general impression that those dark eyes are staring at the camera in stony anger. Now what, he wonders, would cause that kind of pain in a Starfleet officer? What would drive a man to force another to bomb a Starfleet establishment?

 

"He's one of our own, and he's responsible for this act of savagery," Marcus continues. "For unknown reasons, John Harrison has just declared a one-man war on Starfleet. And under no circumstances are we to allow this man to escape Federation space. You here tonight represent the senior command of all the vessels in the region," he adds, with barely a side glance at Pike.

 

Of course. Pike may not be captaining a starship anymore, but Captain Kirk has only been on the job for a year, so Command feels he needs an advisor. Pike isn't sure whether to be grateful or offended on his protégé's behalf, but Kirk isn't feeling either because he's not paying close enough attention to notice.

 

The young captain is paging through other images taken of the bombing, frowning deeply at the padd. He's still listening, though, as Marcus continues to speak. "In the name of those we lost, you will run this bastard down. This is a manhunt, plain and simple, so let's get to work. Earth's perimeter sensors have not detected any warp signatures leaving the system, so we know he can't be far. You will park your ships in a blockade formation, then deploy search vehicles and landing parties to run down every lead. This man has shown willingness to kill innocent people, so the rules of engagement are simple. If you come across this man and fear for your life or the lives of others nearby, you are authorized to use deadly force on sight."

 

Pike can tell that Kirk is going to interrupt before he opens his mouth, but decides to let this run. Kirk's intuition has served him well in the past, after all. "Sir," Kirk says, "why the archive? It's like bombing a library. All the information there is public knowledge. If he really wanted to damage Starfleet, this could just be the beginning." That brilliant young mind is making leaps of logic that Pike can't track or keep up with.

 

But there's no chance to ask. The old admiral frowns as he becomes aware of something else, hidden under the general chaos of emotion surrounding him. Cold purpose, like a knife sliding home between a target's ribs, an assassin's blade maneuvering into position. Or a surgeon preparing to cut out a heart with calculated precision. A steady, silent threat that is slowly descending on the room from outside.

 

Pike turns and looks out the window. There's a strange light coming from above the building, what almost looks like a jumpship's emergency signal beacon, and behind him he can hear Kirk continuing to lay out his thoughts. "Sir, in the event of an attack like this, protocol mandates that senior command gathers captains and first officers at Starfleet HQ, right here in this room." There's a creeping horror slowly spreading through the room, among captains and commanders alike.

 

Marcus is unflinching as he listens, the same cold bastard no matter whether it's good times or bad. "Chris?" he asks, noticing that Pike has turned away from the conference.

 

"Kirk's right," Pike says, voice hoarse as he realizes the same thing Kirk has figured out. "Everyone, get out now!"

 

No one questions the order, not even Admiral Marcus. They rise as one and as they move to leave the room, a roar descends outside the window, heralding the arrival of a jumpship. And through the front viewport, Pike catches a glimpse of a face, staring down at them with hateful dark eyes. _Harrison._

 

Then everything goes to hell.

 

The window explodes in a hail of plasma fire, blasting holes clear through the room and its support columns. Agony erupts all around Pike as officers fall, mortally wounded or dead in seconds, and he can't tell who is hurt or where they are. It all blends together into a bright haze of pain, bombarding his senses from every direction as the shootout continues.

 

It goes on for what feels like forever.

 

There's an almighty bang, and the plasma fire stops, followed by a series of crashes that sound farther and farther away.

 

Pike forces his eyes open, blinking away tears as smoke burns them out of him, and realizes that at least some of the pain is coming from himself. He can't tell how badly he's hurt, and that's a warning sign too, he knows. Through the pain, he can see dress grays kneeling over him, stained with soot and blood, and he can feel the panic coming from the one man he's never known to be so afraid.

 

_James... help me._

 

His vision narrows like he's traveling down a long tunnel, until there is nothing left but black.


	4. Mobilize

_This can't be happening._

 

Kirk stands in the ruins of the Daystrom Conference Room, unable to move away from the gaping hole that's been blasted into the wall to the outside. Cold wind whistles against his face, but it does nothing to get rid of the stink of smoke and blood that permeates every square meter of the room. And he finds it a struggle to accept that no more than an hour ago, John fucking Harrison mowed down a dozen Starfleet officers in cold blood.

 

Including Admiral Pike.

 

Kirk's fists clench of their own accord, fingernails carving bloody crescents into his palms. The last he saw of the old admiral, Pike was covered in blood and unmoving, whisked away by transporter beam to Starfleet Medical across town. It hadn't looked good.

 

There's a soft scrape of a footstep behind him. "Captain," Spock calls out. "Admiral Vel-Marcus is requesting your presence in his office."

 

A summons from the head of Starfleet himself, but Kirk can't bring himself to comply right away. He looks down, out the window, at the wreckage of the jumpship far below, twisted and crumpled like a discarded toy. And he wishes with all of his might that Harrison had gone down with it, not beamed out at the last second. "He killed them all, Spock."

 

"Not all. You, Admiral Marcus, and myself are uninjured," Spock points out coolly, ever the logical Vulcan. "There may yet be survivors among the wounded."

 

"Why is he doing this?" Kirk demands, turning to face his first officer. He's sure he's in a pitiful state, but Spock makes no comment. "Why the hell would Harrison want to wipe out senior command?"

 

"I do not know, captain. I will endeavor to answer your query after I have obtained sufficient information," Spock answers, completely unperturbed by his captain's emotional outburst. "Until that time arrives, the admiral is still waiting for you."

 

"Yeah." Kirk runs his hands through his hair, only half-heartedly caring about looking somewhat presentable. God only knows what his face looks like. He squares his shoulders and wishes he had Spock's special brand of stoicism. "All right, let's go see what he wants."

 

Spock opens his mouth slightly, perhaps to protest that Marcus only asked to see Kirk, but what comes out instead is simply, "Aye, captain."

 

Admiral Marcus's office is on the top floor of Headquarters, untouched by Harrison's rampage. With the mild structural damage to the building, however, Kirk and Spock are forced to take the stairs rather than rely on potentially unreliable elevators to reach their destination. The admiral himself is hunched over his desk, staring intently at his computer's imaging screen. He doesn't so much as glance up when they arrive. "Perimeter sensors just picked up a small personal craft going to warp," he says without fanfare, getting straight to the heart of the matter. "Chances are good that it's Harrison making his escape. All signs point to his destination being the other side of the Romulan Neutral Zone."

 

The admiral looks up now, stone-faced and stern, with none of the fatherly warmth that Kirk has come to expect from Pike. "Your mission is to pursue and destroy him before he gets there. The _Enterprise_ is the only ship here with senior command intact, and she's already set for a long-distance run."

 

"And if we don't catch up in time?" Kirk asks, standing at attention but unable to unclench his hands. He wants nothing more than to ram his fists right into Harrison's murdering face. But if it's more feasible to blow him to kingdom come with a torpedo, then so be it.

 

Marcus's expression is so steady that it would give a Vulcan envy. "Officially, violating the Neutral Zone is a declaration of war. If Harrison makes it across, you have nothing to lose. You send your apologies to the Romulan leadership if you have to, but Harrison does not get away alive. Understood?"

 

Cold, logical, simple. "Yes, sir."

 

"Good." Marcus presses a button on his desktop display, and a hologram leaps to life above his desk, slowly rotating. It looks like a photon torpedo, but sleeker, pointier, deceptively beautiful. "Ongoing research and development since the _Narada_ incident has resulted in these advanced prototype torpedoes. The _Enterprise_ will receive a full complement of seventy-two, our entire stockpile. These torpedoes are longer range and untraceable by sensor scans. I've already ordered them sent up to your ship. I expect the _Enterprise_ to get underway within thirty minutes."

 

"Yes, sir." Kirk couldn't care less what arsenal they equip him with, as long as he gets to pursue and destroy that son of a bitch as soon as humanly possible. Harrison may very well have killed the closest thing that Kirk has ever had to a father. He's murdered dozens of innocent people. He attacked _Starfleet_. He must be put down like the rabid dog he is.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Spock giving him one of those inscrutable Vulcan looks of his, but Kirk ignores it.

 

"Get to it," Marcus orders. "Dismissed."

 

Kirk wastes no time. Finally, there is something he can _do_ , not just stand around staring at the blasted walls in shock. He strides for the stairs, Spock at his heels, and pulls out his communicator. "Kirk to _Enterprise_. Chekov, lay in a pursuit course toward the Romulan Neutral Zone. We're heading out in half an hour, max. Uhura, recall any off-ship personnel and sound general quarters."

 

"Captain," Spock says the moment he snaps the communicator shut again, "as your first officer, it is my duty to strongly object to our mission parameters."

 

Kirk gives him a somewhat surprised glance. "Spock, he just murdered a dozen men right in front of us." He descends the stairs two at a time, never more eager to get the hell out of this building and to the Earthside shuttle hangars.

 

"That may be so, but there is no Starfleet regulation that condemns a man to die without a trial," Spock says calmly. If he is put off by Kirk's rapid descent, it doesn't show as he keeps up easily, his longer legs making up the difference. "We should be pursuing to disable Harrison's ship, take him into custody, and return him to Earth to be judged for his crimes in a court of law."

 

"Those aren't our orders, Spock."

 

"Our orders are morally wrong," Spock insists. "It is imperative for any member of Starfleet to disobey illegal orders. To follow Admiral Marcus's directive, you would be committing murder."

 

Kirk pauses for a moment, stopping on the second to last flight of stairs before the ground level, and turns to face his first officer. "So what do you expect us to do? Sit back and watch as he runs to the Romulans? We cross the Neutral Zone and it's goodbye treaty. You know that."

 

"Captain," Spock says, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "We must make every attempt to take Commander Harrison alive. Is it not unusual that Admiral Marcus has commanded his execution before even attempting to ascertain his motives? It is not known if he is working alone, despite appearances. He has already been known to force others to do his bidding."

 

Kirk scowls, but has to admit that Spock has a point. "We'd be disobeying a direct order from _the_ top brass if we do that."

 

"Yes, captain. If an order is unlawful, you are morally obligated to disobey unless you wish to be complicit in war crimes."

 

Kirk's eyes widen in shock as realization strikes. Marcus's orders would be beyond the pale, if given to any ordinary starship captain. But it would not be that far out of character for covert operations. Like Section 31.

 

A shadow branch of fucking _Starfleet_. And who is the head of Starfleet?

 

"Son of a bitch," Kirk breathes. Spock is looking at him curiously, but this is the last place he wants to talk about it. "I'll explain later. Let's get to the ship, get those torpedoes, and get the hell out of dodge."

 

Kirk's first stop upon arriving back aboard the _Enterprise_ is engineering, and he can already hear Scott's near-incoherent ranting from the shuttle bay. "No, I'm not signing anything! Get these bloody things off my ship!"

 

There's a man on board that Kirk doesn't recognize, dressed in the black outfit of Starfleet's internal security, staring impassively at the _Enterprise_ 's chief engineer as he works himself into a frenzy. The man barely glances at the new arrival. "I told you, Lieutenant Commander, the specifications are classified."

 

Kirk steps forward, just enough to place himself between the two men. "I'll handle this," he tells the stranger. "You're dismissed." The man frowns, but nods once, stepping back. He doesn't leave, though, standing off to the side to observe and make sure that the torpedoes are accepted.

 

Whatever, that's good enough. Kirk turns back toward Scott. "I understand your concerns, but our orders come from Admiral Marcus himself."

 

"Sir," Scott hisses, as if it will help hide his words from listening ears, "I cannae detect the type of fuel these torpedoes even use. Not with sensors and not with..." He lifts his hand and waggles his fingers. "That's mighty suspicious, captain."

 

That _is_ unusual, and Kirk wishes they had the opportunity to look into it further. Instead he puts the most understanding expression on his face that he can manage. "Scotty. I get it. This whole situation is unusual to say the least. But we have our orders to _take_ the torpedoes, and I intend to follow _that_ order to the letter."

 

Scott pauses mid-rant, frowning as he picks up on the fact that the captain is _trying_ to hint something at him. "Take them, eh?"

 

"Yes." Kirk doesn't dare be more specific, not with Marcus's delivery boy hanging around listening. It's already too painfully obvious for anyone paying attention, but Scott won't listen to anything more subtle than that. "Sign for the delivery, Scotty."

 

Scott's mouth hangs open a little as he realizes what Kirk is actually asking. "...Aye, sir. I suppose I can do that."

 

"Great." Kirk turns towards the stranger in black and pastes a smile on his face that doesn't even touch his eyes. "We're taking the torpedoes. Better get off the ship unless you're coming with us. We ship out in ten minutes."

 

God knows what the man is going to report to Marcus, but Kirk can't think about that right now. He has far bigger problems to deal with, and the biggest of them all is named John Harrison.


	5. Pursuit

Kirk spares only enough time to change out of his dress grays for his shipboard uniform before striding onto the bridge. Spock is already there, and turns to face him as the captain enters. "Captain, all departments report ready for launch."

 

"Thank you, Mister Spock." Kirk takes the command chair, and for the first time, it feels less like a welcoming embrace and more like the heavy burden that it really is. All that's truly missing is a sword dangling over his head. "Sulu, release all moorings. No time to waste. Let's get this show on the road. Maximum warp."

 

"Aye, sir."

 

Some captains feel the need to micromanage their crew. Kirk has never been one of them. Orders given, he turns towards Uhura, relying on Sulu and Chekov to carry out his commands like the professionals they are. "Uhura, give me a shipwide channel."

 

She's already moving before he finishes the order. "Channel open, captain."

 

Kirk closes his eyes for a moment, taking one last moment to gather his thoughts before he speaks. Beneath his boots, he can feel the hum of the engines leaping to warp. "Attention, crew of the _Enterprise_. Approximately ninety minutes ago, Commander John Harrison attacked Starfleet Headquarters and killed a dozen high-ranking Starfleet officers. He believes that by crossing the Romulan Neutral Zone, that he will be out of our reach. We will prove him wrong. Per Admiral Marcus, we are authorized to pursue across the Neutral Zone if necessary. We will disable his ship and, if possible, take him alive so he may face judgment for his actions. Let's go get this son of a bitch. Kirk out."

 

He can feel Spock's eyes burning a hole in the back of his head, but doesn't turn around. He's not going to give the Vulcan the satisfaction of being able to say 'I told you so.' Instead he leans back in the command chair, forcing a casual pose. His whole body is tense, still wound up after the firefight at Daystrom, but his crew need to see him in control. Need to be able to trust his orders come from a rational, logical source. "Mister Chekov, how long before we intercept?"

 

Chekov doesn't need any time to calculate his answer, having already anticipated his captain. "At current speed, thirty-six minutes, keptin. Telemetry shows us intercepting Harrison's wessel three lightyears from the edge of ze Neutral Zone." Unlike previous missions, the navigator manages to keep his projections tightly under control, no emotions leaking out to affect the rest of the bridge. A year of practice has made a hell of a lot of difference.

 

Kirk nods. "Thank you, Mister Chekov. Keep me informed if anything changes." Thirty-six minutes. He can work with that. The captain leans over and presses a button on the arm of the command chair, opening a direct line to engineering. "Hey Scotty, we've got just over half an hour to take a closer look at those torpedoes."

 

" _Are you giving me permission to thoroughly inspect classified material, captain?_ " Scotty asks immediately, though if Kirk didn't know better, he'd detect a hint of excitement and satisfaction in his chief engineer's voice.

 

"Affirmative, Mister Scott. We're not launching any unknown payloads from my ship without any idea of what they're going to do. I'm pretty sure there's a regulation or two about that," he adds, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Spock, who simply nods once. "Thirty minutes, Scotty. Hop to it."

 

" _Aye, sir._ "

 

Down in engineering, Scott can hardly believe his ears. But he's not going to waste his captain's good favor, circumstances be damned. The engineer rubs his hands together, more out of habit than any real benefit to his power. "Right then. Off we go."

 

The damn guard dog of a man earlier hadn't let him give the torpedoes more than the barest of touches, but now there's no one here to stop him. Scotty presses both hands against the missile's casing and closes his eyes, reaching deep as he dares. Somewhere in this bloody thing is a fuel source, and he intends to find it.

 

His brow furrows as he leans his head toward the torpedo, puzzled by what he feels. Most weaponry has an energy about it, a surge of explosive power held under control until given the proper release. But aside from the propulsion mechanism, he can't sense a damn thing even close to that. This doesn't feel like a proper weapon at all.

 

But there is a power source... He digs deeper, sensing a flicker of energy held down at the mechanism's core, cold and... _waiting_ for something. Sleeping? No, that can't be right. If he didn't know better...

 

Kirk's voice jolts him out of his technomancy trance. " _Scotty, how's that analysis coming along? We're out of time._ "

 

Startled, Scott looks at the chronometer. It's been thirty-three minutes since he first immersed himself in feeling for the torpedo's inner workings. He hasn't lost track of time like that since the academy. "Sir, they don't have any kind of conventional payload. I cannae guarantee they'd even be good as weapons, never mind photon torpedoes. I can't give ye more than that right yet."

 

He can almost _hear_ Kirk frowning over the communications channel. " _Understood. Stow 'em._ "

 

"Ye don't have to ask twice," Scott mutters under his breath, and turns to issue orders to his engineers.

 

Up on the bridge, the atmosphere is tense as the _Enterprise_ bears down on Harrison's little getaway ship. "Time to intercept?" Kirk asks, watching the readouts over Chekov's shoulder.

 

"Sixty seconds," Chekov reports, and then exclaims something in Russian. "Harrison's wessel has increased its speed. Intercept in two minutes and forty seconds, on the Romulan side of the Zone."

 

"Dammit." Kirk opens the channel to engineering again. "Scotty, we need to go faster. Can you give me anything?"

 

There's an exasperated sound from the other end of the link. " _We're already givin' it all she's got, captain. It's not bloody miracles, all right?_ "

 

Kirk resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of all the people on board, Scotty is one who has never been afraid to give the captain a straight answer as bluntly as possible. "Good to know." He clicks off the comm. "So... we're going into the Neutral Zone. Hope everyone's ready."

 

"Ready or not, here we come," Sulu mutters.

 

Kirk absently drums his fingers on his armrest, thinking. Something is very wrong here, besides the obvious, but damned if he knows what it is. "Uhura, are we in range to contact Harrison yet?"

 

"Audio only, sir," she answers promptly. "Do you want to talk to him?"

 

"Sure, put me on." Kirk rather doubts that they can talk down a man who has committed two massacres within hours of each other, but he should at least try. It's what Section 31 _doesn't_ want him to do, and therefore there must be a reason. "Attention John Harrison, this is Captain Vel-James T. Kirk of the _USS Enterprise_. You cannot outrun us and you are outgunned. Surrender immediately. I have been authorized to end your existence if you do not comply. Acknowledge."

 

There's nothing but silence, and on the viewscreen, Kirk watches the blip that represents Harrison's craft as it warps across the Romulan Neutral Zone. Sulu doesn't flinch once as the _Enterprise_ follows suit, closing in on the smaller ship. "We are now in violation of the Neutral Zone treaty," the helmsman reports calmly, like he does this every day.

 

"I can see that," Kirk answers dryly, but there's a click from the overhead speakers as Harrison finally chooses to respond.

 

" _You and what army, captain?_ " The accent is unfamiliar to Kirk's ear, and he swivels slightly to judge Uhura's reaction. The communications officer is frowning, listening intently to the transmission, but she nods to him as she opens a two-way channel between the ships.

 

"Me and seventy-two advanced photon torpedoes," Kirk replies immediately. "We will be in torpedo range in twenty seconds. If you do not surrender by then, I will have no choice but to destroy you."

 

Spock is giving him a funny look again, but the humans on the bridge recognize the bluff for what it is. There's no doubt that they'll shoot if they have to, but not with Marcus's mystery torpedoes, no matter what Kirk leads the fugitive to believe.

 

"Sir," Chekov exclaims suddenly, before Harrison can respond, "three Romulan wessels decloaking on our trajectory. They are raising shields and charging disruptors."

 

"Uhura, hail them," Kirk snaps out. "Tell them we're pursuing a fugitive and mean no hostilities towards the Romulan people. We'll be back on our side of the fence as soon as we have our prisoner."

 

Never has Kirk been so happy that his carrier communications officer is a badass with all languages. Uhura doesn't hesitate over her words, broadcasting in fluent Romulan without needing to pause to consider a single phrase. She winces a little as she listens to the reply. "They're not buying it, captain."

 

"Sir!" Sulu calls out, drawing Kirk's attention back to the tactical display. "Harrison is reversing course. He's targeting the Romulans," he says in disbelief.

 

"What? Why would he do that?" the captain asks, baffled. "Sulu, drop us out of warp."

 

But they have no time to speculate, because Harrison is already firing on the closest warbird, his phasers splashing against their shimmering shields. The little personal craft banks and rolls to evade return fire, concentrating all of his efforts on a single point in the shields until finally, it weakens. The warbird abruptly jolts as its atmosphere violently vents through a hole in the hull, and begins drifting, powerless.

 

"One remaining warbird is targeting us," Chekov reports.

 

"So much for avoiding conflict," Kirk mutters to himself. Then, louder, "Target their weapons and engines _only_. Keep casualties to a minimum if you can."

 

The battle is over in minutes. Two warbirds hang dead in space, while the third is in several pieces, cut to ribbons by Harrison's phaser barrage. The small personal craft hangs in front of the _Enterprise_ , nose to nose with the much more massive ship. "Harrison is hailing us," Uhura reports.

 

"Let's hear it." Kirk braces himself for blustering bravado, some kind of fanatical last stand, or maybe just a simple taunt.

 

Harrison delivers none of those. " _I surrender, Captain Kirk._ "

 

_Say what?_ Kirk's first reaction is surprise. His second is suspicion. "Spock?" he murmurs to his first officer. "Is he up to something?"

 

"Scanning." Spock is silent for a moment as he analyzes the data. "I see no evidence of duplicity, captain. His shields are lowered and his weapons are powered down."

 

Kirk rubs his chin, mulling it over. Something still seems very wrong here. There's no reason for Harrison to surrender this easily, no reason for him to turn back and help the _Enterprise_ defend itself against Romulan attack. And yet... there doesn't seem to be a trap laid here, not that he can see. "Kirk to security. Turn on the anti-mutation field in the brig, and post four guards. We're about to have a guest." He turns towards Spock. "Call Scotty and coordinate a tractor beam on Harrison's ship. We'll take it in tow."

 

The captain turns back toward Uhura to ask her to broadcast to the fugitive, but she stands up before he can say anything. "Something's very strange here, captain. The way he talks... he doesn't use _any_ Vulcan loanwords, nor loanwords from any other non-Earth language. I'm fairly certain he's speaking pre-first contact English."

 

Baffled, Kirk gapes at her. "Why would he do that? That doesn't make any sense."

 

"I don't know, but it's the truth. I'm positive of that."

 

This situation is getting weirder and weirder. What a fucking day this has been from start to finish. "Tell him to prepare to be beamed aboard. Any sign of hostility and we'll drop him." She nods, satisfied that her warning has been taken under advisement, and Kirk leans over the armrest to call McCoy. "Bridge to Medical. Bones, meet me in the brig. You've got a prisoner to examine."

 

" _That fast?_ " McCoy sounds surprised.

 

"That fast," Kirk agrees. "Something's really hinky here. Pull out all the stops."

 

" _Hinky,_ " McCoy mutters, just loud enough for the audio receiver to pick it up. " _All right, be there in a minute._ "

 

"Sulu, as soon as Harrison's aboard and we've got his ship, get us back in Federation territory," Kirk orders. "Set course for Earth, warp three."

 

If the low speed surprises Sulu, the helmsman doesn't let on. "Aye, captain."

 

Kirk gets up to head toward the brig, uncertainty still gnawing at his gut. There's something going on here, and being in the dark has never felt so ominous.


	6. Augment

It isn't the first time that Kirk has seen Harrison in person. Those cold dark eyes glared out at him through the front viewport of the jumpship during the attack on Daystrom, as if committing the captain's face to memory, the one who managed to halt his savage attack.

 

Those same cunning eyes lock onto him the moment he enters the brig. "Captain." He sits in front of the transparency, legs crossed in a meditative pose, calm and composed as if he really is a guest rather than a prisoner.

 

Kirk's not sure if he's ever hated someone so much in his life. He forces himself to turn towards McCoy, because otherwise he's going to say something he might regret later. Much, much later. "Scan him."

 

McCoy frowns at the brusque command, but complies without a complaint, raising his tricorder to get better readings of the prisoner. "I'll need to take a blood sample too."

 

"Of course you do," Harrison says smoothly, his tone almost _amused_. As if _anything_ about this was funny. But he rises to his feet, and when McCoy opens the small porthole, he obligingly rolls up his sleeve and offers his arm to the doctor. The guards watch him warily, hands on their phasers, but Harrison doesn't try anything, just stands there calmly while McCoy draws a vial full of blood from him.

 

Kirk can't restrain himself any longer. "Why'd you do it?"

 

Harrison doesn't ask him to clarify. It's incredibly obvious what Kirk is asking. "Because I had to."

 

"That's not an answer," the captain hisses. McCoy gives him a concerned look, but he shakes it off. "You had to have a _real_ reason to murder innocent men and women."

 

"Yes," Harrison says, tilting his head slightly. "I have seventy-two reasons, in fact."

 

_Fuck_. Kirk knew there was something off about the torpedoes, why Marcus would insist on giving the _Enterprise_ classified weaponry so suddenly, without giving them clearance on the specs. "What are they, really?"

 

Harrison stares back at him, impassive. "You would not believe me. I suggest you open one up and see for yourself, captain." He sits down in front of the transparency again. "And I suggest you be quick about it. Admiral Marcus will not be pleased that you left me alive."

 

Kirk stares at him. At no point does he recall saying that his orders were only to kill, not to capture. Nor does he remember saying who sent him. But Harrison doesn't seem at all surprised by any of this, and with the anti-mutation field active, there's no chance he's using any kind of telepathy or any other active powers.

 

Wordlessly, Kirk turns and strides out of the brig, McCoy hot on his heels. The entire time, he can feel those cold eyes trained on his back, watching him leave.

 

"Jim," McCoy says the moment the door slides shut, "there's something very strange about his readings."

 

Kirk lets out an explosive sigh and rubs at his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. "I've been hearing that a _lot_ about this guy. What is it this time?"

 

"I'm not sure. I'll need to analyze his blood before I can tell you more." McCoy hesitates, uncertain. "Jim... what was he talking about back there?"

 

The captain shakes his head. "Remember this morning's intruder? I get the feeling Section Thirty-One is getting way too deep in ship's operations. I'll eat my own boots if Harrison's not involved somehow. Marcus, too."

 

"Jesus, you're actually suggesting..." McCoy trails off, looking appalled and green around the gills.

 

"Yeah. I am." Kirk shakes his head. "Get back to Medical and start analyzing. I want to know what you find within the hour. I'll be in engineering."

 

Engineering is the usual hive of activity, people rushing here and there to repair or maintain the ship's systems. And in the center of it all is Scott, overseeing the placement of the last photon torpedo into storage. "Ah, captain," the chief engineer greets Kirk as soon as he spots him. "Just finished stowing the nasty beasties away. All torpedo tubes are loaded with conventional payloads."

 

"Good," Kirk says, unsmiling. "Scotty, how safe would it be to open up one of the mystery torpedoes?"

 

Scott boggles at the question. " _Safe_?" he asks, a few octaves higher than usual. "You want to do surgery on an unknown weapon on board _my_ ship? Er, _our_ ship," he corrects at the captain's sharp look.

 

"Doesn't have to be onboard," Kirk assures him. "We can stop off at the nearest uninhabited land mass and do it there. I just need to know if it can be done. We have to know what's really inside."

 

Scott grimaces and runs his hands through his hair, or what little of it there is, thinking furiously. "I suppose. It'd be a delicate thing."

 

"Good. That's the plan then." Not for the first time, Kirk wonders if the whole galaxy has gone mad or if it's just him. He's about to have a mystery torpedo dissected just because a terrorist dared him to do it, and that's one of the more seemingly-rational decisions he's made today.

 

Scott's giving him a look that says he disagrees, but he nods. "Aye, captain. If that's really what you want."

 

"It is." And it's going to be fun explaining this all to Starfleet Command once everything is all said and done, he's sure. "Are you going to want any help?"

 

"Yes sir," Scott answers immediately. "One of me boys down here has a shielding power rated for two megatons. It won't contain a torpedo blast but I'd sure as hell feel a wee bit safer tinkering with its guts with him along."

 

Kirk nods. "Let's do this as quickly and safely as possible. I get the feeling we don't have long before the other shoe drops."

 

He's not wrong. An hour later, Scott and engineer Kelly beam up from a nameless planetoid with a dismantled torpedo and an interesting surprise. Kirk looks down at the torpedo's innards, and though he was expecting something sinister at play, he'd never suspected this.

 

"It's a coffin?"

 

McCoy's face is grim as he scans the torpedo's contents. "No, it's a cryotube."

 

"Somebody removed the designed payload and stashed this poor bastard inside," Scott says. "That's why I couldn't detect anything. The thing is, nobody's used cryotubes since the warp drive was invented."

 

The doctor nods. "That matches what I'm reading here. This guy is three hundred years old. And that matches the data I have from Harrison, too." He turns to face the captain, scratching at his gills nervously. "Jim... Harrison isn't a mutant. Neither is this guy."

 

"So... they're carriers. So what?" It's not a big deal, but McCoy seems stunned. Worried. Anxious, even. Kirk doesn't get it. Even if these guys were frozen for hundreds of years, that shouldn't make the doctor react like _this_.

 

"They're not carriers either," McCoy says. "They're _Augments_."

 

Scott and Kirk both recoil at the word, and Kirk's mouth hangs open in surprise. "Mutant hunters? But they're... from three hundred years ago," he says slowly, and looks back down at the cryotube with new eyes. "All the officers who fell at Daystrom were mutants. The only people who weren't hit at all were me, Spock, and Marcus."

 

"I didn't know that Augments could sense an active x-gene that precisely," Scott says, breaking into a nervous sweat. They've got one of those bastards locked up in the brig, after all.

 

"I didn't either," Kirk says, and shares a glance with McCoy. Despite what they've led everyone to believe, Kirk's loss of his mutation never deactivated his x-gene. There should be no reason he wasn't gunned down with the rest of them, if Harrison was able to target them individually like that. "But the military back then was so paranoid, it's not surprising they classified the data. And then after the Eugenics Wars, so much information was lost, it's a wonder we even know as much as we do." He shakes his head and looks at McCoy. "What kind of abilities can we expect? They were just human 'plus,' right?"

 

"To an extent," the doctor allows. "Strength, reflexes, intellect, all the basic human abilities were enhanced to a level where they could compete with mutants without actually being one. But it was rumored that different Augments had customization that wasn't shared. Harrison's blood shows remarkable resilience, for instance. It could be a localized healing factor of some kind, but I don't have the kind of tests I need to determine that. And modern tricorders aren't exactly tuned for Augment physiology."

 

Kirk frowns. "Something still doesn't add up... Marcus said that Harrison was Starfleet. If he hates mutants enough to go after senior command, why would he ever join an organization that's dominated by them? Unless his reasons had nothing to do with them being mutants at all." Almost involuntarily, his thoughts are drawn back to the rude awakening he had this morning. _It's possible..._

 

The captain shakes his head, and straightens his shoulders. "I think I'd better go have another chat with our prisoner."


	7. Conspiracy

"You're an Augment."

 

Harrison doesn't flinch at the accusation. Rather, he looks almost relieved. At getting to stop hiding, perhaps? "Yes."

 

"And so is the guy in the torpedo." Kirk lifts his chin as he stares down at the prisoner. "Are your people in all of them?"

 

"All seventy-two survivors," Harrison answers easily. "Their safety was held hostage for my good behavior. I was attempting to smuggle them to safety, but I was discovered and had to flee. Admiral Marcus led me to believe that he had killed my entire crew in retaliation for my disobedience, so I responded in kind." Dark eyes bore into him. "My crew is my family, captain. Is there anything _you_ would not do for your family?"

 

Kirk doesn't answer the question, can't even consider responding. That isn't what he's here for. "Who are you, really? Your name isn't John Harrison."

 

"No," the prisoner agrees smoothly. "That is a fiction, invented by Admiral Marcus the moment he woke me to advance his cause. My real name is Khan Noonien Singh." He waits expectantly, as if he believes Kirk will be... what? Shocked? Horrified? Impressed?

 

"Okay, Khan," Kirk says, taking the name at face value. He recalls learning about an Augment by that name back when he still went to school. The most ruthless of all the military's supersoldiers, and one that led a rebellion against their government masters, with the aim of ruling over all their inferiors, mutants included. Maybe this is the same Khan, maybe not. Either way, it was three hundred years ago. "Why would Marcus want help from a three hundred year old frozen guy? An Augment, at that."

 

Khan looks like Kirk has disappointed him somehow. "My superior intellect, of course. Your Starfleet is complacent and pacifistic. He needed a warrior's mind, honed in battle, to design weapons and warships, to militarize Starfleet to face the coming threats."

 

Kirk's hands clench into fists. "Section Thirty-One." It isn't a question.

 

Khan smiles, the disappointed expression cleared from his face. "Captain, you know more than you're telling."

 

Kirk knows he can't trust this man. Khan gunned down a dozen high-ranking Starfleet officers, including Admiral Pike. He forced another officer to undertake a suicide bombing run, killing dozens more. The man is a terrorist, a mutant killer, the antithesis of everything the captain stands for. But he _knows_. "Why are you cooperating with me?"

 

Khan stares back at him calmly, his expression not betraying a hint of what he might be thinking. "Because, captain, my crew's lives are now in _your_ hands. And despite the impression you have attempted to make on me, I know what kind of man you are. You now know the truth about the weapons Admiral Marcus pressed upon you. The lives he expected you to snuff out, a pawn in his game. The real question you should be asking is what will you do, now that you know what's really going on?"

 

Kirk finds that he has no answer to that. But before he can come up with something, there's a whistle from the comm unit in the brig. " _Bridge to captain,_ " Sulu's voice says. " _Proximity alert, sir. There's a ship at warp headed right for us. It's... pretty big, sir. Warp displacement at least twice ours._ "

 

Khan leans forward slightly, staring intently at Kirk. "You know who is coming, captain. Are you prepared to face him?"

 

Shit. He'd hoped they would have more time, that they would be closer to Earth by the time Marcus realized that he hadn't followed orders and terminated 'Harrison.' Kirk pivots on his heel and begins striding toward the turbolift. "Lieutenant," he says to one of the guards as he passes, "move Khan to Sickbay. Put ten security officers on him and keep him in the strongest restraints we have. No anti-mutation field." It won't do any good against passive powers, after all, and Khan doesn't even have an x-gene anyway.

 

The turbolift ride to the bridge takes only a few seconds, but even that small span of time is an eternity, knowing that they are going to be intercepted in short order. And a ship twice the size of the _Enterprise_... Kirk has never heard of a Starfleet vessel so massive. Wouldn't they have heard about such a thing from the planetary shipyards?

 

_Section 31... they have to have secret facilities. A spacedock?_

 

The doors to the bridge whoosh open and he strides through. "Status report," he says as he takes the command chair.

 

"Receiving transmission from the incoming ship," Uhura says immediately. "Admiral Marcus demands we drop out of warp and wait for his arrival."

 

"Of course he does." The only thing that he can think to do is play along, and hope that he can come up with a plan in the meantime. "Drop to sublight. What's his ETA?"

 

"Fifteen seconds," Chekov answers as Sulu dials back the warp engines to idle, and on the viewscreen the stars reduce from streaks to points. "We are currently located... ten lightyears from the Sol system's Oort cloud."

 

_Damn._ They were so close to home, so close to being able to turn Khan over without Marcus quietly having him eliminated. "Shields up," Kirk orders. "Red Alert."

 

Everyone except Spock looks at him in surprise. "Keptin?" Chekov asks, a bit of uncertainty leaking past his control.

 

"You heard me," Kirk answers simply. There is no time to explain to the bridge crew what he's learned over the past day, no quick primer on Section 31 and Marcus's machinations that he can give. He just has to trust in his crew to follow his orders, and hope that they can come out on top this time.

 

"...aye, sir. Shields up." The lighting on the bridge tinges red, and in the lower decks, the alarm sounds to summon the crew to their battlestations.

 

Just in time. The space outside the viewport ripples, and suddenly the stars are blacked out by a massive starship.

 

The ship looms over the _Enterprise_ , a deadly silent shadow. Her hull is dark enough to almost be invisible, if not for the tiniest, unavoidable pinpricks of lights on her long frame. It is only by chance that the starlight reflects just right to read the text painted on her saucer. _USS Vengeance_.

 

"Admiral Marcus is hailing us," Uhura reports, her eyes wide.

 

"Onscreen." Kirk takes a deep breath. He's not at all ready for this. But it's time to play poker and hope that his bluff is good enough to win the pot. "Broadcast it shipwide, for the record."

 

The viewscreen lights up to show Admiral Marcus sitting in the _Vengeance_ 's command chair. The entire bridge is dark in design, a stark contrast to the _Enterprise_ 's gleaming white. No one else is visible onscreen, despite the wide angle. " _Captain Vel-Kirk._ " And is it Kirk's imagination, or does Marcus look slightly surprised to see him on the other end of the transmission? As if he expected Kirk to be replaced, or that he thought Khan would be in command by now. Or... perhaps there are Section 31 agents on board, who were supposed to take him out if he ever became a threat. None of those prospects are cheery ones.

 

"Admiral Vel-Marcus," Kirk answers in kind, summoning up a charming smile, or the closest thing he can manage. "I wasn't expecting to meet you out here, sir."

 

" _You sent no word that you had neutralized Harrison,_ " Marcus says, flinty cold eyes analyzing every detail of Kirk's reactions. " _And the Romulan Empire is furious about a violation of the Neutral Zone treaty by two Earth ships. I can't help but notice what you're towing._ "

 

"We have him in custody, sir," Kirk answers simply, truthfully. "Per Starfleet regulations, we must return him to Earth to stand trial."

 

Marcus's eyes narrow as he considers that. "Any _particular reason you decided not to report this in?_ "

 

"Our long-range communications were knocked out during the skirmish with the Romulans," Kirk lies, the only plausible explanation he can think of. "As grateful as we are that you came out here personally to check up on us, we have things well under control."

 

Marcus makes a noncommittal noise in his throat, staring at Kirk as if he can reach out across space and rip the truth from the young captain's mind. " _Be that as it may, I can take it from here. Lower your shields and prepare the prisoner for transport._ "

 

"For what reason?" Kirk asks, aware that he might be digging the hole deeper. But he does _not_ want to let Marcus get his hands on Khan again, not after seeing what their partnership has created. There is little doubt in his mind that the _Vengeance_ is Khan's brainchild, the warship he mentioned Marcus made him design. "We're almost back to Earth. Transporting the prisoner twice in short order will only give Khan more chances to escape."

 

Marcus's hardass admiral persona dissolves slightly as he leans back and swipes a hand over his face, resigned. " _Well, shit. You talked to him._ "

 

"A prisoner has a right to defend himself," Kirk says, his heart sinking as he realizes he's made a mistake in revealing he knows the prisoner's real name. Before, Marcus seemed willing to play along, to preserve the secrecy, maybe to protect his own ass from the public learning of his illegal order to kill Harrison without trial. But not anymore.

 

Marcus just shakes his head. " _You should've said yes, Kirk. You would've been one hell of an operative._ "

 

And there it is. The truth coming out into the open. Kirk feels a chill up his spine as he realizes the implications at play here. When this conversation is over, so are the lives of everyone on board the _Enterprise_. The only thing he can do is keep the admiral talking long enough to find a way out. "Sir, if I'd followed your orders, seventy-three more people would be dead. Are they condemned to death just because they're Augments?"

 

" _They're condemned to death because they were war criminals, son. Their sentence is just three centuries in the making. It's our duty to see it complete before they kill again._ "

 

"I won't kill a man in cold blood," Kirk says immediately. He won't consider it, not even as a bluff. They're beyond that point now anyway. "And I won't use his crew as _weapons_ , sir."

 

" _Not even to save the lives of_ your _crew?_ "

 

"Captain, he's locking phasers on us," Sulu reports in alarm.

 

Kirk leaps to his feet, desperate to keep Marcus talking. There are hundreds of lives on board, innocent men and women who have nothing to do with Khan and his crimes. None of them deserve to die. "Sir, no! My crew was just following my orders. I take full responsibility for my actions, but they were _my_ actions, and mine alone. I'll submit Khan and myself into your custody, just let them live. Please, admiral."

 

A small smile touches Marcus's lips. " _That's one hell of an apology, Kirk. But I know you'll say or do anything to protect yourself or the people you care about. We've known that ever since Kodos told us how you kept yourself off the kill list on Tarsus Four._ "

 

The blood drains from Kirk's face.


	8. Confrontation

The bridge of the _USS Enterprise_ is dead silent as the crew watch their captain locked in verbal combat with the head of Starfleet, well aware that their lives are hanging in the balance. And on the last salvo delivered by Admiral Marcus, Kirk has been visibly struck to the core.

 

He can't seem to breathe. _Kodos was Section 31._ More than that, Kodos knew _exactly_ what young Jim Kirk did, despite all the efforts he went through to keep up appearances. Was it all for nothing, in the end? Here he is again, staring down the barrel of the biggest cannon he's ever seen, waiting for a miracle to save his ass and knowing there will be no help coming. Not then, and not now.

 

Kirk swallows, trying to find his voice. "Sir..."

 

Marcus sits back in his command chair, poised with deadly confidence. " _Captain Vel-Kirk, without authorization and in league with the terrorist John Harrison, you went rogue in enemy territory, leaving me no choice but to hunt you down and destroy you._ " The transmission cuts out there.

 

"Sulu, get us out of here!" Kirk shouts, breaking free from the shock. He can't deal with this right now. If he doesn't lead, the _Enterprise_ is doomed, and so is everyone aboard her. "Maximum warp!"

 

Sulu is slamming the thrust lever forward before he even completes the order. There's no course laid in, no specific destination. They could end up warping straight through a planetary gravity well or collide with a sun. But there is no time to be precise, and the _Enterprise_ shudders from impact even as she leaps into warp.

 

"He is pursuing," Chekov reports, his voice raised from adrenaline. Bits of alarm and fear are leaking past his emotional controls, saturating the bridge.

 

"Drop a few photon torpedoes aft. And turn off the tractor beam," Kirk orders, mind racing. There has to be a way out. There always is. He reaches for the command chair's arm controls and calls Sickbay. "Khan, did you design the _Vengeance_?" he demands.

 

" _Of course._ Dreadnaught _-class, three times the speed of your vessel, built solely for combat. Modified for minimal crew._ " Khan's voice is calm, matter-of-fact, despite probably having ten phaser rifles aimed at his head. " _Your ship is outmatched, captain._ "

 

"Forget that shit and give me the prefix code," Kirk interrupts him. "Or we're all dead, your crew included."

 

There is a pause from the other end of the transmission. " _The prefix code is six eight one three five._ "

 

"Spock!" Kirk calls, but his first officer is already on the task, having grasped his captain's strategy.

 

"Lieutenant Uhura, prepare to broadcast this signal directly to the _Vengeance_ ship computers," Spock says, perhaps the only person on the bridge holding onto some kind of calm.

 

"Lower their shields and disable their weapons," Kirk commands, even as the ship shudders from another torpedo impact. "Reboot anything you can. Tie up their computers long enough for us to get to Earth. Even Marcus won't want to deal with the media fallout from this sort of thing in full sight of the Federation."

 

"Our shields are at five percent," Chekov reports. "Ve cannot take another hit, keptin."

 

"Broadcasting now," Uhura says the moment Spock feeds her the signal, routing it through her console. There's a long, tense moment as the _Enterprise_ crew can do nothing but wait.

 

"Did it work?" Kirk asks, when no torpedo slams into the ship's unprotected backside.

 

"Scanning." Spock's eyes are riveted to his console. "Their shields are inoperative and their weapons are offline, but they are gaining on us. I believe Admiral Marcus intends to ram us."

 

"Evasive maneuvers!" Kirk calls, but it's too late.

 

The entire ship yaws to the right, tumbling as the _Vengeance_ collides with her, knocking both ships out of warp. Sulu struggles to regain control of the _Enterprise_ as she spins, the stars smearing wildly across the viewscreen, the enormous black shape of the _Vengeance_ flickering in and out of frame. Something yellow-orange flashes across the display, and after a turn or two, Kirk realizes they've dropped out of warp somewhere near Saturn. Great.

 

"As soon as we stabilize enough, target his weapons and slag them," Kirk says, gripping his chair tightly to keep from being thrown out of it. The internal inertial dampeners are whining under the massive stress, hints of the ship's momentum leaking through enough to be violently unstable. There's a humming under the deck plates as the _Enterprise_ fires phasers once, twice, three times.

 

"Damage report!" Kirk orders, once the stars have stopped spinning.

 

"Major hull damage to engineering," Spock reports, pulling up the tactical display. "Warp core is offline. Emergency force fields are holding. The _Vengeance_ 's weapons are disabled and impulse engines are offline. Both ships are incapable of sustained combat."

 

Kirk is willing to bet actual currency that Marcus isn't going to let that stand for long. He reaches over and punches the armrest comm again. "Security, escort Khan to the transporter room on the double. Myself, Khan, and two armed officers will beam aboard the _Vengeance_ , arrest Admiral Marcus, and take control of his ship." Orders given, he stands and turns to Spock. "Mister Spock, you have the conn. Get Scotty working on repairing the damage as fast as he can. I don't want them ready to go before we are. And Uhura, take the recording of that last ship-to-ship transmission and send it straight to Starfleet." Even if it brings to light one of the worst events of his past, Marcus's treachery won't be hidden in the shadows. Even if the _Enterprise_ doesn't make it.

 

"Captain, I must strongly object to your decision to take Khan along with you," Spock says, though he doesn't countermand any of his commanding officer's directives. "He is a proven criminal and terrorist, and cannot be trusted."

 

"I know, but he knows the ship and we don't. If he knows what's good for him, and his crew, he'll cooperate." Kirk doesn't particularly want to hold anyone hostage - especially not if it puts him on the same level as Section 31 - but he doesn't have the time or the luxury to argue about it. "We don't have any other options."

 

Spock says nothing, unable to deny anything that Kirk has said. But as Kirk reaches the turbolift, he speaks up. "Captain... I must express my wishes for your safe return."

 

Kirk forces himself to smile. "Thanks, Spock. Good luck to you too." Then the doors whoosh closed, whisking him off to the lower decks.

 

In the transporter room, the tech on duty is incredibly nervous as Khan calmly leans over her shoulder and studies the console. "Here," he says, typing in a set of coordinates. "This is where we may escape notice long enough to be successful."

 

"Where are you putting us?" Kirk asks as he strides into the transporter room. This feels like the riskiest thing he's ever done, but he has no choice about it. He hands Khan a phaser that's been manually locked to stun only, his own holstered on his hip.

 

"Engineering," Khan answers, taking the weapon with a curious look, as if he's confused on why it's necessary. "There is a path that runs adjacent to the engine room that will lead up to the bridge, bypassing the turbolift. No weapons fire will be allowed, or they risk destabilizing their warp core. Anticipate hand-to-hand combat until we reach the bridge."

 

Kirk nods and glances over his shoulder at Khan's security detail. "Phasers on stun only," he orders. "Admiral Marcus is to be taken alive if possible."

 

If the two officers have any notion that this could be considered treason should they lose, they don't show it at all. After the conversation between Kirk and Marcus was broadcast throughout the ship, there is little doubt that Marcus would have them all killed anyway, regardless of the outcome. "Yes, sir."

 

"All right. Let's go." They take their places on the transporter pads, and disappear in a white haze that drops them in a massive black room, floors polished and unused, warp core containment humming ominously mere meters away. Kirk quickly scans the room and finds no one present. "Khan?"

 

"This way." The Augment hasn't even drawn his weapon, but every step is solid with confidence in his superior skill. He presses a few buttons on a nearby console, and a wall slides open, revealing a narrow walkway cutting through the heart of the ship. He doesn't wait for the others to join him, stepping through without missing a beat. "They will know we are here in short order. I suggest you hurry."

 

The passageway is narrow, forcing them to travel through it in single-file. Kirk follows Khan, letting the security officers take up the rear guard. The Augment forges ahead, setting a punishing pace, taking twists and turns based on memory and not stopping to see if anyone else is keeping up. There's a shout from up ahead, and Khan lunges out of sight.

 

 _Dammit!_ Kirk speeds up, bolting around the corner, and nearly trips over a body. It's no one he recognizes, a big beefy-looking man without a single thing to indicate he's actually Starfleet. _Either Section 31 is recruiting private security, or Marcus doesn't trust his own people..._ Kirk spares a moment to check the man's pulse, but someone's broken his neck quite efficiently. Khan's reputation certainly does not disappoint, and once again, Kirk wonders if he's made the right call in bringing the Augment along.

 

But the time for second-guessing himself is long past. He passes three more bodies before catching sight of a light source, indicating an opening in the passageway. Khan stands just outside, waiting impatiently. "Quickly, captain. If you wish to salvage this ship, there is not much time left."

 

"Where are we?" Kirk asks as the security officers climb out of the passageway behind him.

 

"Deck One. The bridge is just ahead," Khan says, pointing to a set of sealed doors. "By now, Marcus will know we are here. I can manually override the door. You must cover me." He doesn't phrase it as a request, and Kirk bristles at the arrogance of it. But dammit, he's still necessary to the mission.

 

"Fine," Kirk snaps, and orders the two officers to take up positions near the door. "Get to work."

 

He expects Khan to pop open the panel near the door and rewire it, or perhaps to enter some kind of master override code. Instead, Khan forces his fingers into the gap between the doors and heaves. The door's servos shriek in protest, and the entire mechanism grinds as the Augment slowly forces it open.

 

Phaser fire shoots through the gap, striking one of the security officers. The man doesn't even have time to shout before he falls to the deck, a smoking hole in his chest. The other officer returns fire, stun beam barking into the confines of the _Vengeance_ 's bridge. Kirk can't see if it hits anything, but the killing blasts from inside don't stop, and the remaining officer is struck in the shoulder. He falls back, gasping and clutching at his shoulder. "Beam back," Kirk orders him, and takes up his own phaser as he moves to the doorway.

 

He only has time for a short glance before he has to duck out of the way to avoid a killing blow. The bridge is empty, save for Marcus, who has taken cover behind the nav console. There's a strange beeping noise, and though it isn't one that he recognizes, a chill goes down Kirk's spine. Whatever it is, it can't be good.

 

"Khan," Kirk hisses, but the Augment has opened the door enough to fit through, and he doesn't wait to hear what the captain wants him to do.

 

Khan dashes through the jammed doorway, evading phaser fire, and aims a stun blast at the viewscreen. The blue bolt ricochets off the panel and strikes Marcus, sending the admiral sprawling across the floor, conscious but dazed.

 

That's secure enough for Kirk. He enters the bridge, phaser trained on Marcus. "Admiral Marcus, you are under arrest," he announces, and at the corner of his eye he can see Khan picking up Marcus's dropped phaser.

 

Marcus seems to be having trouble seeing straight, but he still smirks up at his captors. "You're not actually going to do this, are you?"

 

Khan moves over to the tactical console, rapidly scanning through the data. Kirk can't split his attention between the two of them. Marcus is a proven threat. Khan is at least pretending to cooperate. And if he guesses wrong and gets shot in the back for his trouble... that's just a risk he's going to have to take.

 

"You made an incursion into enemy space, destroyed three Romulan warbirds, and colluded with a known terrorist to assault a Starfleet flag officer and cripple a Starfleet vessel," Marcus continues. "There's a war coming, Kirk, and without me there's no chance of survival. You really think the courts will take your side over mine?"

 

Khan finishes whatever he was doing with the computers, and stalks toward the fallen admiral. "You have always had far too high an opinion of yourself, _admiral_ ," he sneers, and shoots Marcus in the face. The corrupt admiral collapses, most of his head gone.

 

Kirk whirls on Khan, furious and sick. "That wasn't the plan!"

 

The Augment's cold eyes drill into Kirk without a hint of remorse. "He wanted to keep you talking. The ship is set to self-destruct."

 

 _Shit._ "How long?"

 

"Twenty seconds. I cannot stop the sequence."

 

Kirk immediately flips open his communicator. " _Enterprise_ , beam us back and get us out of here! The _Vengeance_ is about to detonate."

 

The familiar white haze of transport obscures his vision, and when it fades, he and Khan are safe on the _Enterprise_ 's transporter pads. The wounded security officer is being tended by McCoy and a handful of medics, and the doctor looks up sharply at the sound of the transporter activating again. "Captain, what-"

 

"No time, Bones," Kirk says, and grabs Khan's stolen phaser before the Augment can protest. Khan frowns, but allows it. "Keep Khan under guard," the captain orders the remainder of the security detail, still standing guard in the transporter room. "I have to-"

 

The ship suddenly rocks violently, as if struck by a massive impact. Everyone but Khan stumbles, tossed by the turbulence, and the lights go out before emergency lighting snaps on. Kirk scrambles over to the comm unit. "Kirk to bridge, report!"

 

" _The_ Vengeance _has self-destructed,_ " Spock answers, and there's a strange note to his voice that Kirk has come to recognize as extreme stress. " _Large pieces of debris have struck the_ Enterprise _and destabilized our position near the Saturn black hole. Main power and auxiliary power have failed. If the warp core is not reactivated, we will fall into the singularity in ten point three minutes._ "

 

Kirk's mind races through several ideas in rapid succession, discarding each one as nonviable. He's closer to engineering than the bridge. There's nothing he can do on the bridge that Spock cannot, therefore if the ship is to be saved...

 

The captain runs towards the warp core.


	9. Sacrifice

Engineering is in chaos.

 

Kirk runs past bulkheads that are no longer there, only emergency force fields preventing more air and personnel from being ripped away into the blackness of space. He catches a glimpse of Saturn, stretched into a spiral as the singularity left by the _Narada_ slowly sucks it in, and forces himself not to picture the _Enterprise_ plunging into that invisible terror.

 

Pieces of the _Vengeance_ drift by, and he realizes with a start that some of the debris lying around the deck is part of the warship's hull, blasted through the _Enterprise_ by the force of the collision.

 

And everywhere, his crew lay dying.

 

Engineers are pinned beneath rubble, or lie bleeding on the deck. Panic fills the air as the uninjured and walking wounded struggle to perform their duties, and Kirk looks around desperately for his chief engineer.

 

"Captain!" Scott has both hands pressed against a console, eyes wild as he connects with the ship, blood trickling down the side of his face from a gash in his hairline.

 

"Scotty!" Kirk shouts in response. "Give me good news! We've only got minutes before we're all dead."

 

Scott looks at him, stricken. "Sir, the warp core housings are misaligned. We _cannae_ fix that remotely. The ship's dead, sir." Kirk doesn't have to ask if he's certain. The technomancer is never wrong when it comes to the _Enterprise_.

 

In the end, it isn't a conscious choice. It isn't even an emotional choice. It's just cold, hard logic. One life in exchange for hundreds. Spock would be proud. "No, she's not." Mentally he tries to figure out how much time has passed since the _Vengeance_ exploded. Too long. No time to take the proper precautions. Kirk bolts for the warp core chamber, striking the panel to open the airlock.

 

Scott chases him in alarm, trying to grab at his sleeve. "Wait, captain! If you go in there, you'll die! The radiation will kill you!"

 

There's no time for this. Kirk turns, and before Scott realizes what he's holding, the stun bolt has already knocked him to the deck. "Sorry, Scotty," Kirk says, dropping his phaser next to the engineer. "I can't let you stop me. I need you here."

 

The captain steps through the airlock and cycles it, plunging himself into hell.

 

Radiation doesn't feel like anything. You can't smell it, taste it, or hear it. But intellectually, Kirk knows that he's already being bombarded by dangerous levels of radiation. He slithers through the crawlway, meant only for special repairs after the core is powered down, ignoring the way the hot metal sears his skin on contact. Ignoring the metallic tang at the back of his throat, and the way his eyes are beginning to burn, vision blurring with involuntary tears.

 

The crawlspace opens up suddenly, and Kirk finds himself in the main warp core, a room he's only ever seen in schematics. But it's clear where he needs to go.

 

He grabs the closest pipe, using it to haul himself upward. His muscles are weakening, as if from fatigue, but he forces them to keep going. At one point, he begins coughing and can't stop, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth, and he has to pause in his climb to retch violently.

 

He keeps climbing.

 

The warp core housings are visibly askew, the lower housing pointed so far over that it's a wonder it's still attached. Kirk shoves at it with his hands, unable to budge it, even when he manages to throw his shoulder against it.

 

_I have not come this far to fail now!_

 

He lies on his back and braces himself against part of the frame, and begins to kick as hard as his ruined muscles will allow. Every impact rattles his bones, bruises blooming to life on his feet and legs, but slowly, ever so slowly, the frame begins to move and finally snaps into place.

 

The warp core flares, brilliant in its intensity, and Kirk feels himself falling. He doesn't feel the impact, can't see anything past the blinding light, but he can feel the searing metal under his body and forces himself to crawl, hoping that he can find his way out. It's too late for him, he knows, but he's never been able to stop fighting before, why should now be any different?

 

His thoughts muddled, vision clouded, he doesn't realize he's reached his destination until he smacks into the glass. There's a smear of red on the other side, probably matching the trail of red he's left behind him. He blinks slowly, but nothing snaps into focus, and there's a high-pitched noise that keeps assaulting his ears. He frowns, focusing with all his remaining strength, and finally recognizes the sound.

 

" _Captain, oh my god, ye mad bastard..._ "

 

There's something he needs to do... some control to press, and Kirk fumbles above his head to find it. His hand bumps a switch, and then the door behind him is rolling shut. _Oh right... decontamination cycle. So they can get my body._

 

That thought doesn't disturb him like it probably should, he thinks. It's a strange comfort to know that his crew, his _family_ , will have a body to bury. Not every family is so lucky. It's the last thing he can do to ease their pain, the last act of their friend and captain.

 

He blinks, and the smear of red on the other side of the glass has been replaced by blue. Kirk squints, barely making out a pair of pointed ears and a set of dark, human eyes that have never looked so devastated since Vulcan was destroyed. _I knew there was more human in you than you let on._ "How's the ship?" he manages to rasp out, his throat like sandpaper.

 

" _Out of danger,_ " Spock says, and there is raw pain and grief in his voice without even a hint of Vulcan stoicism. It's weird, and frightening, as Kirk sees his death written in his first officer's eyes. " _You saved the crew. You sacrificed yourself for us._ "

 

"Was logical," Kirk mumbles, his tongue like lead in his mouth. "One for hundreds."

 

" _The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,_ " Spock says, as if reciting a Vulcan proverb, but there is no logic in his face, no comfort to be found in the words of Surak. " _Or the one._ "

 

Kirk tries to force a smile, realizing even as he does so that it's absolutely inane to be trying to comfort Spock when he's the one who's dying. How long does he have left? He's never given thought to what he wants his last words to be. Something badass, he'd assumed, maybe going down in battle like an action hero, but this... this is ugly, drawn-out, torture. "I'm scared, Spock," he admits, unwilling to waste his last chance to say what needs to be said, and he can't see Spock anymore, can't see anything past the blurry glow of the lights in engineering, and the blackness slowly closing in around him. "Help me not be."

 

" _I cannot,_ " Spock's voice says, soft and full of regret, and a shadow presses to the glass. Kirk reaches out to touch it, unable to feel his own hands, warm wetness smearing under his palm. " _Jim..._ "

 

"I'm sorry." _Sorry I couldn't do more. Sorry I made you cry. Sorry I stunned Scotty. Sorry I wasn't a better captain. Sorry I became my father after all._ He can't say any of it, the words catching in his throat as his vision narrows, the pain starts to fade, and the heat of his burns begins to give way to bone-chilling cold. It's nothing like going to sleep. And he's not ready for it. There's so much more to do. But his journey is over.

 

At 1426 hours, ship's time, Captain James Tiberius Kirk breathes his last.


	10. Body

Part of McCoy has always wondered what it would feel like to drown. To feel his lungs stop, his gills motionless, heralding the stopping of his heart as he suffocates.

 

He no longer has to wonder.

 

The doctor and his team of nurses enter engineering at a sprint, and begin to triage the wounded. There are far too many who are beyond helping, and it's with a heavy heart that McCoy registers their deaths with the ship's computer. He begins to scan a midshipman with a broken leg when Scott's hand falls heavily on his shoulder. "Doctor," the engineer says, voice rough and eyes red from tears, "you better come over here."

 

McCoy frowns up at him. "What is it, Scotty?" he starts to say, but stops when he sees the look on Scott's face. _Oh God no._

 

He doesn't remember moving to the warp core access chamber, but there he is, staring through the glass at the empty blue eyes of his captain's corpse, slumped against a door streaked with bloody handprints. McCoy nearly falls to his knees at the force of the weight in his chest, drowning on dry land. It's a waking nightmare from which there is no escape. For God's sake, even Spock is crying and that's just not natural.

 

There's a beep, and a light flashes above the door. "Decontamination cycle complete," the computer says dispassionately.

 

"Oh Jesus," McCoy says before he's even realized he's spoken. The door slides open and Kirk's body slumps into his arms, bloody and lifeless. He acts on autopilot, cradling his captain and friend in one arm, scanning him with the other. "Massive radiation exposure," he croaks out, unable to do anything outside of clinging to his training, lest he collapse into a sobbing wreck, and he knows he's going to get so drunk tonight that he'll be lucky if he ever remembers his own name. "You stupid bastard, Jim."

 

_What the fuck am I supposed to do now?_

 

There's a presence looming over his shoulder, and McCoy recognizes that bastard, Khan. In all the confusion and chaos, no one put that asshole back in the brig. And now here he is, witness to something he has no right to see. The doctor clutches the captain's corpse tighter, irrationally trying to hide it from the interloper, glaring up at him.

 

Khan looks down at him emotionlessly, and his eyes narrow as he comes to a decision. He leans forward, and the next four words almost destroy McCoy. "I can save him."

 

"What the fuck are you saying?" McCoy snarls, full of fury. How _dare_ he mock them in their moment of grief. "He's _dead_! Not even mutant powers can bring back a corpse."

 

"I am no mutant," Khan says, sounding almost offended by the term. "I am _better_. And _I can save him._ "

 

McCoy's breath catches in his throat, his gills opening and closing uselessly. It's Spock who finds his voice first. "You would not offer without an ulterior motive. What do you want in return?"

 

"My people's lives. All seventy-two. They committed no crimes save for being what they were designed to be." Khan's dark eyes are trained on Spock, as cold and calculating as they have been all along. "They do not deserve execution for acts committed three centuries past, against illegal government agencies that no longer exist."

 

"And what about you?" Spock asks, his hands curled into fists. McCoy can see traces of green blood from where the Vulcan has gouged his own palms with his fingernails. "You have committed acts of terror against the Federation."

 

"My fate is not important to me so long as my people live," Khan answers. And God help him, McCoy could hear the same stupid, self-sacrificing words coming out of the corpse held in his arms, leading them to this horrible moment. "Do you accept my offer or not? Choose quickly. Once his brain function begins to deteriorate, there is no miracle cure for your captain."

 

Spock hesitates, and McCoy jumps in. "For God's sake, Spock, say yes!" he shouts, imagining he can already feel Kirk's body cooling in his arms. "We don't have all goddamn day!"

 

Spock takes a deep, shuddering breath and slowly lets it out. "You will accompany Doctor McCoy to Sickbay and provide your... cure. Then you will be imprisoned until such time as it is determined that your treatment is viable. When Captain Kirk survives intact, your people will be free to live out their lives on a planet of our choosing. Is this agreeable?"

 

The Augment raises his chin. "It is."

 

McCoy doesn't wait any longer. "Get that cryotube you popped outta the torpedo," he snaps to Scott. "We've gotta freeze the captain before his gray matter goes. Spock, can you carry him?"

 

"Yes, doctor." Spock doesn't hesitate to lift Kirk's lifeless body in his arms, looking a bit stunned that the captain feels so light. "I will transport him to Medical at once."

 

McCoy stands, and almost stumbles, his legs shaking from adrenaline. He grabs at Khan's sleeve. "You're coming with me," he snarls, half-dragging the Augment along. "What exactly are you gonna do?"

 

Khan is clearly allowing himself to be manhandled, though he narrows his eyes at the treatment. "My blood contains a synthesized healing factor. I have developed a technique to create a serum from it that can rapidly cure disease and heal grave injury. It should be a simple matter to revitalize your captain's cells. After that, his continued recovery will be up to your medical science."

 

"How long will it take?" McCoy asks, and only now is he aware that Khan's security detail has been reduced to only two. There's very little stopping the Augment from doing what he was designed to do, slaughtering every mutant on board, starting with McCoy.

 

But he doesn't. He follows the doctor toward Sickbay, rolling up the sleeves of his Starfleet-issue undershirt, apparently focused on fulfilling his end of the bargain. He stops momentarily when he enters the medical bay and sees the empty cryotube, waiting for Kirk's body, and the comatose form of the Augment that had been within. He moves to the other Augment's bedside, and reaches out to touch the unconscious young man's face. "Joachim," Khan whispers, smiling slightly, almost tender in his care for his crewmate. "Our long wait has been worth it. You will see."

 

Spock wastes no time, gently stowing the captain's body in the ancient cryotube. He looks almost like he wants to say something, but steps back, activating the freezing cycle. The clear window frosts over, obscuring the corpse from sight, and McCoy can't suppress a shudder at the fleeting thought that they've just buried their captain.

 

He rubs his hands over his face, trying to regain composure. _If this doesn't work..._ He refuses to finish the thought. Steeling himself, he looks up at Khan and scowls. "Right, let's get to work."


	11. Cure

It takes Khan a full day to synthesize the serum from his own blood. McCoy supervises, and finds himself getting annoyed that he wants to check the formula for anything that might harm the captain. _He's dead already. He can't get any deader,_ he reminds himself, and grips the edge of his desk hard enough that his knuckles turn bone-white.

 

"Here it is." Khan holds up the vial to the light, and it looks like it's full of blood, thick and bright red. "You will need to inject it into his heart and manually circulate his blood to allow for full distribution. What happens after that is in your hands."

 

McCoy takes the vial from him, staring down at it. This one simple thing will either revive Kirk, or break the doctor's heart forever. "Take him back to the brig," McCoy orders the ever-present security officers. "Once we know the serum works, we'll fulfill our side of the bargain."

 

Khan just nods, allowing the officers to clamp restraints on him and lead him away to his cell once more.

 

McCoy turns back to look at Sickbay. Once the _Enterprise_ arrived at Earth, the wounded were all transferred to Starfleet Medical. Everyone except for the captain, of course. And despite having a day to think about it, McCoy is no closer to dreaming up a cover story that'll satisfy Starfleet without rousing suspicion about the medical miracle he is dearly hoping he's about to commit. He vaguely remembers saying something about Kirk's injuries being too severe to transport him. Yeah, no shit.

 

The cryotube sits on the floor in the medbay, silent and still as the grave. It's impossible for him to forget it's there, to forget that his friend's frozen corpse has been keeping him company over the last twenty-four hours. "God, Jim," the doctor says out loud. "If this doesn't work, I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with myself."

 

The body, of course, doesn't answer.

 

McCoy shakes his head and calls for his remaining nurses to assist. "We're gonna thaw him out," he says, forcing himself to focus on this as if it was any other life-saving procedure, like he's not trying to actually play God here. "Once he's started to warm up, hook him up to life support. Cardiac modulator, respiratory bypass, the works. And make sure we've got a monitor on his brainwaves."

 

The next few minutes pass in a blur. Kirk's body looks exactly the same as it did yesterday, his skin gray and waxy, though thank Christ someone had the thought to close his eyes before turning him into a popsicle. There has been no time to clean off the blood, no time to change him out of his soiled uniform, and there will be no time now. Not until they know if the serum will work.

 

McCoy takes a deep breath, loads his hypo with Khan's superblood serum, and presses it against Kirk's heart. The hypo hisses as it discharges its contents, and McCoy swallows as he steps back, watching warily. _Please God, let this work._

 

Life support forces Kirk's heart to beat, forces his lungs to expand, giving no clues if the serum is doing anything. The brainwave monitor stays flat for several long minutes, giving the damning message that McCoy has dreaded all day. He puts his head in his hands, and that's when the machines give a blip.

 

"Son of a bitch," the doctor breathes. It's not much, but there's motion on the brainwave monitor as Kirk's neurons are stimulated back to life. It takes a few minutes, but the readings slowly creep up to the same levels he'd expect of a patient deep in a coma.

 

"All right," McCoy says, his legs wobbly with relief. "He's alive. Let's keep him that way. Get those clothes off him and start a line. Nurse Chapel, get me the neurocortical stimulator. I'll be damned if we're gonna lose his brain before we can save the rest of him."

 

It takes six and a half hours before McCoy calls it quits. Kirk is still on full life support, but his heavily-irradiated cells are regenerating themselves before his eyes, and the bruises are fading to greenish-yellow. The doctor rests one hand on Kirk's forehead, wishing that the captain would just wake up and let him see those baby blues, and know that his friend is still in there. But of course Kirk doesn't react to the stimulus, as unresponsive now as he was when he was a cooling corpse in the doctor's arms. McCoy sighs, and pats Kirk on the shoulder. "Hope you're having good dreams in there, Jim. You just take it easy. We'll take good care of you."

 

"Doctor," Nurse Chapel asks, "Starfleet Medical is asking when Captain Kirk will be ready for transport. He's the last patient they're waiting on." Unlike some of his other nurses, she doesn't look nervously at the unconscious body of their commanding officer, managing to stay completely professional despite their very unorthodox situation.

 

McCoy lets out a shaky laugh, the sheer relief overwhelming. _Jim is_ alive _. We can finally transport more than just a cadaver._ He turns to face her, clasping his hands together to stop them from shaking uncontrollably. "He's ready as soon as there's a medical shuttle available. I don't want to beam down a patient this critical and he needs constant life support."

 

Chapel nods. "I'll arrange for one to be sent up to the shuttle bay." Her professional mask cracks a little, and she smiles, touching McCoy's arm. "He's alive, doctor."

 

"He is," McCoy agrees readily, daring to hope. Kirk is still incredibly sick, but he's got a fighting chance, and that's more than he could've dreamed of a mere day ago. _Is that all it's been? Feels like years._ McCoy shakes his head and takes Kirk's hand in his, sliding fingers down to feel the pulse point at the wrist. It may be artificially induced, but it's still Kirk's heart beating under his fingertips, his flesh warm and alive. "And he's going to stay that way if I've got anything to say about it."


	12. Coma

Spock stands in the Intensive Care Unit at Starfleet Medical, hands clasped behind his back as he looks down at his captain. Four days after his medically-improbable resurrection, Kirk still lies comatose, his body slowly healing under the watchful eyes of Doctor McCoy and the Starfleet Medical staff. And yet Spock cannot bring himself to be disappointed in his commanding officer's continued state of unconsciousness. The fact that he is alive at all is little short of astonishing.

 

"Had to see for yourself?"

 

Spock doesn't turn at the sound of McCoy's voice, having heard the doctor's approach twenty-three seconds ago. "That would be illogical. I have received your reports on the captain's progress, and I trust in your professional judgment. There is no reason for me to doubt the veracity of the captain's condition."

 

McCoy eyes him with an expression that Spock has learned means he is skeptical. "Spock, it's okay to be worried. It's human. Besides, you're here, aren't you?"

 

"So it would seem." Illogical or not, Spock can't deny that it is gratifying to see the captain with his own eyes. It is unnatural to see the man so still, given his constant state of activity when conscious. The captain still wears an oxygen mask and is hooked up to numerous monitors and intravenous lines, and it is clear that he is far from ready to resume his duties. But his chest rises and falls, and his heart beats, with no assistance needed from primary life support, though he understands that was not the case before today.

 

Spock leans forward slightly, noticing the minute furrow in the captain's brow, perhaps unnoticeable to those not used to subtle differences in expression. "He is in pain."

 

"Yeah." McCoy's tone is full of regret. "We've got him on a hell of a cocktail of painkillers, but we can't block out all of it or we risk compromising his respiratory function. The good news is, he shouldn't remember any of that when he wakes up."

 

Spock lifts his head, alert to the use of 'when' instead of 'if.' It's a comfort to hear. "How long do you estimate he will remain comatose?"

 

But the doctor shakes his head. "It doesn't really work that way, Spock. Even with conventional coma, a patient could be out for days or even years, and we're dealing with a healing power that quite frankly I don't understand." McCoy chooses his words carefully, although Spock doubts that the ICU at Starfleet Medical is under surveillance. "The treatment we used is so experimental that I really can't predict how his recovery is going to progress. All I can say is that he _is_ improving, and if things keep going the way they have been, he should make a full recovery in time."

 

"I see." Spock must confess to being disappointed, but it is understandable. Medical science has always been naturally imprecise, and Khan's serum is no different.

 

McCoy pats a chair that has been pulled up at the captain's bedside. "You're welcome to sit with him awhile, if you want. With humans at least, it's believed that people who are comatose know when friends and family are with them, and some even remember things they hear while they're under."

 

Spock hesitates. "Social interaction is a human need. It assists with healing also?"

 

"It does," McCoy affirms. Incredibly illogical, but then, so are humans themselves. And Spock cannot deny that logic has not driven all of his own actions in the recent past, regardless. "Familiar voices and touches, positive thoughts, that kind of thing. It's not really something that can be scientifically measured, but it's got good anecdotal evidence behind it, and it certainly can't hurt."

 

"Indeed." Spock slowly sits down in the chair. It is uncomfortable, but not intolerable. "Is it acceptable to ask for solitude with the captain?" he asks, looking up at McCoy.

 

The doctor's mouth twitches, and for once, Spock can't read his expression. "Yeah, sure. Call button's to the right of the bed, if you need me." McCoy eases the door closed behind him, allowing the Vulcan his privacy.

 

The room is nearly silent, save for the regular beeping of the heart monitor that tracks the captain's life rhythm. Spock studies the readouts in silence, analyzing the data and comparing it to McCoy's recent reports on Kirk's progress. He is slightly surprised to find himself irrationally hoping that the captain will open his eyes and break the silence first, but as expected, Kirk remains silent and still.

 

"Captain," Spock says, trusting in the doctor's assessment of comatose behavior in humans, "it is Spock. It has been five point seven days since the _USS Vengeance_ was destroyed. The _Enterprise_ has been severely damaged, and repairs are proceeding. According to current estimates, the ship will be mission-worthy in approximately eight months, though Mister Scott insists on using the opportunity to upgrade the ship's systems, which will add three months to the repair time. Much of his concern appears to revolve around alternate solutions to remotely repair warp core misalignment, an interest that I also share."

 

He pauses, gathering his thoughts, somewhat perturbed that he even needs to do so. After all, he has considered little else over the last several days. "Captain... Jim... I am obligated to confess that your actions have disturbed me greatly. I do comprehend your reasoning for your actions, and I commend you for your logical decision. And yet watching you fade provoked intense emotions within me that I have rarely experienced before. Regret, sorrow, fear, rage. I took some consolation in the knowledge that the one responsible for your demise was already dead, but also felt frustration that I was denied the chance to avenge you. These feelings have not entirely left me despite your survival. Meditation has failed to purge me of these emotions. I believe that the remedy may be as simple as seeing you conscious. For your own sake, as well as mine, I must express my wish for your continual and rapid recovery."

 

He opens his mouth to say more, but pauses as he sees that the signs of pain on the captain's face have deepened slightly. As his own comfort is secondary to Kirk's health, Spock reaches for the call button that McCoy pointed out. As he presses it, the captain suddenly begins to seize, thrashing about on the biobed.

 

McCoy appears as if by magic, quickly taking in Kirk's vitals at a glance. "Help me get him on his side!" he snaps at Spock, who obeys immediately, assisting the doctor to gently roll the captain onto his right side. McCoy grabs a tricorder and waves it over Kirk, frowning as the spasm quickly eases. He blinks and takes a closer look at the readings, then down at the captain. "Huh. Is that...?"

 

Spock can't see what McCoy is looking at, but the doctor looks astonished. "Well I'll be damned. You're full of surprises, Jim. Holy shit."

 

"Doctor?" Spock asks. McCoy does not seem concerned, but clearly something unexpected and notable has occurred.

 

The doctor just shakes his head, and turns the tricorder so Spock can see the reading. Spock's eyebrow rises of its own accord. "Fascinating."

 

"Isn't it just," McCoy agrees.


	13. Awake

Blackness.

 

He drifts in a void, unable to touch, unable to scream, no matter how hard he tries. Occasionally, whispers slither past him in the dark, and he turns to follow them, but the darkness is all-encompassing, and they slip away before he can find them.

 

Is this all there is?

 

Somehow he was expecting... more.

 

Or at least something else.

 

Another whisper, and this time he focuses all his attention on it, refusing to let it get past him. He _will_ find out where it's coming from... or where it's going. A small pinprick of light appears in the dark, and as he moves toward it, the whisper gets louder, finally coalescing into a voice.

 

" _-can't stop seeing it whenever I close my eyes. I'd feel a lot better if you'd just wake up and tell us we're all being idiots, sir._ " Uhura's voice is soft, and there's a strange pressure against his hand, the first thing he's felt since the blackness began. " _Scotty's driving himself crazy redesigning the_ Enterprise _so no one will ever have to do what you did again. And Spock's been, well, he's Spock, so you know. He's-_ "

 

Her voice fades. _Wait, come back!_ he shouts silently, but she's gone.

 

He drifts.

 

" _-settled Khan's people on Sigma Aquila Three. Command wasn't happy about it but given that Admiral Marcus turned out to be corrupt as hell, they let us have it to keep the story covered up if nothing else._ " Sulu's voice cuts through the black, pulling him closer to the single point of light still shining through. " _I guess they decided it'd be better to declare John Harrison dead and maroon him with the rest of the Augments. From a PR standpoint, it-_ "

 

Sulu's voice slowly vanishes into nothing, but Chekov's takes its place. " _-looks good, sir. You vill be up on your feet in no time. Just focus on getting better, and do not vorry about the ship, keptin. Mister Scott is-_ "

 

" _-raving mad, cap'n. It should've been me, Jimbo, you absolute nutter. But don't worry, it'll never happen again, or I'll eat me own hat, sir. When ye wake up, I've got some improvements to the_ Enterprise _I need you to sign off on. So the sooner you stop lazing about, the quicker we can-_ "

 

" _-get your muscles working again. I know it hurts, Jim, but you're going to experience atrophy no matter what so you might as well put up with it. It'll be worth it once you're conscious and bitching at me, trust me. I'm saving you a lot of headache. Besides, you've got new-_ "

 

" _-problems for the Admiralty Board like you wouldn't believe. They offered Marcus's job to Archer but he turned it down - figures he's too old, and I can't blame him._ " Now he's sure he's hallucinating, because that sounds exactly like Admiral Pike. Or... maybe he really is dead, and he just hasn't truly realized it yet. " _They're really chomping at the bit to parade you out in front of the media, although given your condition, that's going to be a nightmare and a half on its own._ "

 

Condition?

 

He stares into the pinprick of light, and drags himself toward it. Enough is enough.

 

Kirk gasps, drawing a huge lungful of air, like coming up for air after too long underwater. The light expands into a huge white smear, and he blinks hard, white walls finally falling into focus. There's a rapid beeping noise coming from somewhere behind his head, and he frowns as he realizes half of his face is pressed into a pillow, lying on his side. His whole body feels heavy, weighed down, and he can't even twitch to roll over on his back.

 

"Don't be so dramatic," McCoy's voice says, walking around the bed into his field of vision. The doctor grabs a chair and sits down, putting himself at eye level with Kirk, and there's an expression of pure relief on his face. "You were _barely_ dead. Turns out Khan's blood has more nifty tricks to it than we realized and he was able to put together a serum to bring you back."

 

Kirk swallows, not trusting his voice, feeling like he's swallowed a bunch of knives. "Khan?" he whispers.

 

McCoy reaches over and grabs a cup of water, holding the straw so the captain can wet his throat. It's just a trickle, but it makes all the difference in the world. "Don't worry about it, Jim. How are you feeling? Do you know where you are?"

 

Kirk pauses, listening. The usual hum of the _Enterprise_ 's engines is absent, and if he strains hard enough, he can hear the faint whistle of wind against a high-rise building. "Hospital?"

 

"Starfleet Medical," McCoy affirms. "You've been in a coma for two weeks while your body rebuilt itself. You've had a lot of visitors and well-wishers. Sulu brought you a plant. Uhura's been reading to you, and I'm pretty sure Chekov ate all of the chocolate that was intended for you."

 

Despite his exhaustion, Kirk manages a smile, which fades slightly as a vague memory of a voice swims to the surface of his mind. "Pike?" he asks hoarsely, not sure he wants to know the truth.

 

"He's been here too," McCoy says, and the words are like an emotional gutpunch. When they left Earth in pursuit of Harrison, Kirk hadn't known if his mentor was alive or dead. Had no idea if _any_ of the other officers at Daystrom had survived. "Pretty sure he's gonna end up taking Marcus's seat if he's not careful."

 

"Deserves it," Kirk whispers, managing to turn his head enough to let the pillow absorb the tears that are prickling at his eyes. God, what a relief.

 

"Yeah, he does." McCoy takes Kirk's hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. "How's your grip strength? Squeeze as hard as you can."

 

Trust McCoy to multitask his bedside manner with patient assessment. Kirk gives it his best shot, and the doctor looks pleased at least, but he can tell he's far weaker than normal. "Bones," he says, trying to get his thoughts in order, "why'm I so heavy?"

 

"Part of it's atrophy. You haven't been using your muscles for two weeks, so it'll take some time to build your strength back up. Some of it's the drugs we have you on." McCoy hesitates, his gaze flicking to something behind Kirk. "Jim... there's something else. Khan's blood rebuilt you from the cellular level up."

 

Kirk's breath catches in his throat, and he can actually hear his heart skip a beat, his heart rhythm on the biomonitors disrupted momentarily. "Bones?" he asks, gripped by hope and terror.

 

"Yeah," McCoy says, voice soft like he thinks Kirk is a wounded animal who might bolt if he says the wrong thing. And he might not actually be that wrong, because now the captain's heart is pounding in his chest. "All the way, Jim. You want to see?"

 

 _No._ "Yes," he croaks out.

 

McCoy holds up a mirror, and Kirk can't breathe. Stretching out behind him, sweeping back from his shoulders, are the biggest pair of feathered wings he's ever seen in his life. At this angle he can mostly only see the creamy white underside of the wings, but hints of golden brown creeping over the edges are enough to confirm that they're exactly the same colors they were when he was twelve. Phantom agony ripples through his back, remembering the touch of a rough blade as he forced himself to saw through the bones and tendons, and he wonders who is screaming before he realizes that it's himself.

 

"Jim! _Jim_! You're okay, you're safe. Just breathe. In and out, come on, with me."

 

Someone is taking exaggerated breaths, and almost involuntarily he finds himself matching them, cradled against McCoy's chest and _oh Jesus he has his wings back_.

 

His eyes burn and he hiccups, embarrassed that anyone had to see him caught in a flashback, his heart rate all over the place. "My God, Bones... I can't... I don't..."

 

McCoy just holds him, rubbing his hand across Kirk's back, carefully avoiding touching his feathers. "It's all right, Jim. I didn't realize it was going to be such a nasty shock. I'm so sorry."

 

His stomach twists with fear and remembered horror, but the longer he lets it sink in, hope bubbles up underneath. It feels like coming home after a lifetime away, like hearing that Pike survived the attack on Daystrom. It's gut-wrenching, terrible and wonderful all at once, and he wheezes out a hysterical laugh as a thought occurs to him.

 

"I died and came back an angel," he chokes out. "Oh my god. The press is gonna _love_ this."


	14. Visitors

Apparently recovering from a coma is exhausting, because much to his frustration, Kirk spends a good portion of the next few days drifting in and out of sleep. "It's the drugs," McCoy explains to him. "We're weaning you off them as fast as we dare, but it takes time. Besides, once you spend more than an hour awake at a time, you know the Admiralty's gonna want a debriefing from you."

 

God forbid. Kirk gives an exaggerated shudder, rattling his pinions, which startles him as much as it does McCoy. "I keep forgetting," Kirk mumbles, cheeks flushing red a bit. He carefully eases himself backward to rest against the pillows, finally having found a position that doesn't squash his wings too much.

  
"Better start remembering before you're up and walking around, because I'm not picking up anything you knock over," McCoy grumbles in response. "Oh, thought I should let you know," he adds, "Spock's taking care of getting you a new wardrobe. Uniforms are easy but if you have any favorite jackets or whatever you want altered, better let the hobgoblin know about it."

 

"I hadn't even thought about that," Kirk admits. It's easy to forget that none of his old shirts will be wearable anymore. It hasn't been a problem up to this point, given that his wings have perpetually been sticking out the back of his hospital gown. "He's not throwing anything away, is he?"

 

"No, that'd be _illogical_ ," the doctor says with a snort. "Don't worry about it."

 

He tries not to. Tries not to worry about a lot of stuff. But lying in a hospital bed for days on end is tedious at best, and a lot of the time he has nothing to do but think, when he's not asleep.

 

Visitors are always the highlight of the day. So when he hears the door chime, he doesn't hesitate to call out. "Come in." Expecting one of his crew, he pauses in surprise as an elderly Vulcan steps through the door. "Ambassador Spock?"

 

"Greetings, Jim," the old Vulcan says, far more warmly than his younger counterpart is wont to do. "Forgive my sentimentality, but when I heard you were injured, I felt it necessary to verify your recovery for myself."

 

Flattered and a little embarrassed, Kirk gestures to the chair at his bedside. "Hey, it's all right. It must be driving you crazy hearing about the stuff we get into. I'm not sure I'd be able to resist the urge to meddle either."

 

"Indeed." Old Spock is actually smiling a little as he sits, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "It is... quite gratifying to see you whole. In my universe, your power was never restored by any means. You did not often speak of it, but I know it wounded you deeply."

 

It's awkward, hearing about his alternate counterpart like this, but some part of him also wants to know more. Wants to hear about this other Jim Kirk, his wings clipped for life, and wonders which of them got the better bargain. "So you never had to deal with Khan?" he asks instead.

 

The elder Spock's smile fades. "No. We did. But while I do not know the exact circumstances of your encounter, I can guarantee that it was a very different scenario, with different results. The price to defeat him and what came afterward was a price too dear to pay, and yet my friends and shipmates gladly gave of themselves to see me safely home. It is a gift I was never able to match."

 

"Oh." He hasn't said as much, but Kirk can read between the lines and make a good guess. Somewhere along the line, this Spock died. Obviously it didn't stick. But he doesn't seem to want to talk about it, so Kirk isn't going to pry. He doesn't want his own friends asking too many questions about what it was like to be dead either. "So you came all the way to Earth just to make sure I was still kicking around?"

 

"I was already here for a conference on behalf of New Vulcan," the ambassador says, not unkindly. "But I would have considered taking such a journey, had that been the case."

 

Kirk doesn't quite know how to respond to that, but fortunately, the door chimes again, and Spock - the other one - steps inside, carrying a flat wooden box under one arm. His eyebrow immediately shoots up into his hairline as he sees that Kirk already has a visitor. "Ambassador Spock. I was not anticipating your presence."

 

"Mister Spock," the elder Vulcan replies, and he hides it well but Kirk swears up and down that he's laughing on the inside at having to address _himself_ thus. "I was not intending to stay long. I happened to be in the vicinity and merely desired to convey my well-wishes for the captain's recovery."

 

"Which I didn't thank you for yet," Kirk abruptly realizes, giving him an apologetic grin. "So thank you. I really appreciate the gesture."

 

Old Spock inclines his head a little. "You are welcome, Jim." He stands, yielding the chair to his younger counterpart, and salutes them both with the _ta'al_. "It has been pleasing to see you both well. Live long and prosper."

 

Spock gives Kirk a curious look after the ambassador leaves. "I was not aware that you and my older self were in communication with each other," he says as he sits.

 

"We're not, usually," Kirk admits. "I guess this was a special occasion. It's kind of weird to have this many people worried about me," he adds, before he can change his mind.

 

Spock is silent for a moment. "Captain, do you find it disquieting that your crew is concerned for your health?"

 

That was a lot more direct than he was expecting, and Kirk can feel his feathers fluffing up involuntarily, which is _way_ more embarrassing than it needs to be. "Not... disquieting, Spock. It's nice, and I appreciate that I've come to mean so much to everyone. But it's still not something I'm used to."

 

"I see." A year of practice in reading Vulcan facial expressions isn't really helping Kirk figure out what Spock thinks of that. But mercifully, Spock changes the subject, moving the wooden box to his lap and unhinging it to reveal a checkered board, with black and white carved figures held in the box's side compartments. "I came to inquire if you would join me in a chess game. Doctor McCoy tells me that intellectual stimulation is just as important to your recovery as the physical aspects."

 

_Of course he did._ Thank goodness for old country doctors. McCoy has always tried to treat more than just physical symptoms, and if Kirk doesn't find something to do with his free time, he might have to stage a jailbreak. "I haven't played chess in years. I might be a bit rusty, but I'm up for it."

 

Spock tilts his head. "I do not understand the link between iron oxide and your skill level."

 

Kirk just gives him a look, unable to hide his grin. By now he knows Spock well enough to know that half the time, he's just saying stuff like that to fuck with people's heads. Whoever said Vulcans have no sense of humor is an idiot. "Just set up the chessboard, Spock."


	15. Debrief

Admiral Pike sits at Kirk's bedside, cane propped up against the bed railing, and watches the captain sleep.

 

It's still mind-boggling to think that only a few weeks ago, the two of them were on their way to Marcus's war council in Daystrom. Since then, Pike nearly died and Kirk _did_ die, from what he's heard. And yet, here they both are.

 

Kirk shifts a little in sleep, curled up on his side, and those massive golden-brown wings of his twitch in response to whatever he's dreaming about. Pike isn't going to pry; it doesn't seem like a bad dream this time, and he's come to learn that's a rare thing for James Kirk. Much as he'd like to talk to the kid while he's awake, he refuses to ruin a good thing.

 

He takes a deep breath, feeling a sharp pinch in his gut, and slowly lets it out. He's still healing too, with a few new scars to add to his own collection, but he's up on his feet and already shaking up Starfleet for all it's worth.

 

Section 31.

 

The moment they announced he'd been chosen to head Starfleet, he'd gone straight for the files. The amount of data Section 31 have accumulated is horrifying, and yet there are no names, no paper trail to let him blow the whistle on the whole damn operation. And after this whole fiasco, Pike really doubts that they're going to poke their noses out until no one is paying attention anymore.

 

_Kirk's not going to like that._ Pike doesn't either. But there's not a hell of a lot he can do about it, either.

 

There's a glimmer of awareness from the man on the bed, and Pike leans forward slightly. "Good morning, captain."

 

Kirk's brow furrows and he blinks his way to consciousness, slowly focusing on his visitor. There's a sudden spike of adrenaline, relief and dread all wrapped up into one. "Admiral!" he exclaims, and tries to sit up straight, succeeding only in knocking over the bedside table with an errant swipe of his new wings.

 

"Relax, Kirk," Pike says with a faint smile. "You're gonna put yourself back in the hospital before you even get out of it."

 

Kirk's face flushes red, but Pike can already feel the relief winning out over his fear. "Sorry, sir. It's all new to me."

 

"Yes, so I gathered." He's not an idiot. He knows there's more to it than Kirk is telling. But when the young captain thinks about it, it calls up shadows of a darker time that Pike isn't sure he _wants_ to know about. And it makes a hell of a lot more sense now why Kirk got so upset with his recruitment spiel, four years ago. All this time, he never was a carrier at all.

 

"You here to interrogate me, sir?" Kirk asks, and _there's_ the cocky young man he first met. Tempered by a bit more experience and wisdom, of course, but still the same old James Kirk.

 

"In a manner of speaking. Consider this your formal debriefing," Pike says with a shrug. "I wouldn't let them come in and rake you over the coals while you're still recovering. Hell of a job you did, by the way."

 

"Thank you, sir." No bragging, no exaggerations, just a simple thanks. Kid's done a lot of growing up lately.

 

"So," Pike says, leaning back as casually as the bedside chair allows, "give me the whole story."

 

If he was any other admiral, he knows Kirk's story would be heavily edited in the telling, either to make his crew look more favorable or to downplay aspects that Starfleet might find embarrassing. With Pike, he does neither. He simply makes sure he has plenty of water available, and starts from the beginning.

 

Pike listens intently as Kirk weaves a tale of Section 31 and a repurposed Augment named Khan, and the corrupt Starfleet Admiral who nearly set them all on the path to total war. The story becomes notably more disjointed toward the end, which is more than understandable - it's a wonder Kirk remembers anything about going into the warp core at all, given that radiation was cooking his brains inside his skull. But every word he says rings with the solid note of truth, every syllable echoing his trust in Pike.

 

It's flattering, and a little humbling to feel that.

 

When Kirk finishes, Pike just sits silently for a moment and reflects on everything he just heard. "Sounds like you had one hell of a day."

 

"Yeah, pretty much," Kirk agrees. He hesitates, debating something internally. "Sir... what's going to happen now? With Section Thirty-One, I mean."

 

"Unfortunately, probably nothing," Pike admits. "They've gone to ground, and there's not enough evidence to uncover them at this point. We'll keep our eyes and ears open, but at the moment, that's all we can do."

 

Kirk is disappointed, and a little angry, but he simply presses his lips together and nods. "If they come to try to recruit me again, I could say yes. If that would help."

 

Pike immediately shakes his head. "The last thing we need is Jim Kirk under their thumb. Unless someone's life is in immediate danger, getting in bed with an organization like Thirty-One is a recipe for disaster. Besides, after what happened with Marcus, I doubt they believe you'd be willing to work for them under any circumstances."

 

"They wouldn't be wrong," Kirk agrees reluctantly. There's a cold fury deep inside him, and Pike realizes why the moment he speaks again. "Turns out that Kodos the Executioner was one of them. Or at least cooperated with them."

 

"Tarsus Four?" Pike asks, and Kirk just nods. A lot of things about him are starting to make sense, and Pike has a really strong idea of what might be lurking in the sealed sections of the captain's file. "Part of his eugenics theory was that mutants who look purely human were superior to those that had extra features," he says, as casually as he can manage. "It must have been pretty tough on any kid who manifested during the famine."

 

Kirk's anger gives way to a horrible sick feeling, but he forces it down and nods, not looking at Pike. "Yeah. It was."

 

That's about as much as he feels Kirk is willing to say about it, and to be honest, that's all he wants to hear. Pike reaches a hand out and rests it on Kirk's shoulder, careful not to touch his wings. "You're the bravest son of a bitch I know, James. I'm glad you got your wings back."

 

Kirk takes a deep breath, his emotions such a mess that even Pike can't sort it out. "Me too, sir."

 

Pike leans back again, giving the recuperating young man some space. "I have to report in to Command soon, but I'd like to visit you again, if that's all right with you. Want me to bring you anything?"

 

Kirk looks up, startled at the offer, like he's never had anyone ask him that before, warmth blooming in his chest. "Actually, sir, it's really boring in here," he admits, as if sharing a great secret. "Any chance you can smuggle in some books?"

 

"I sure can," Pike promises.


	16. Rehabilitation

"Good news," McCoy announces, entering Kirk's room without fanfare. "I'm springing you outta here, kid."

 

Kirk looks up from his book in surprise, barely remembering to shove the bookmark in place before closing it. "Really? I thought you were gonna torture me for at _least_ another week. What's the occasion?"

 

"The occasion," the doctor says, a little grumpily, "is that you're recovering ridiculously fast for a man who was dead a month ago. Your PT scores look great and I see no reason why you can't get yourself around. But," he adds, holding up a finger to forestall any interjection, "there are some conditions."

 

Kirk resists the urge to roll his eyes. He is a starship captain, dammit. He's at least pretending to have some dignity. "Of course there are."

 

"Being released from the hospital is not being released from medical leave. I want you to keep up with physical therapy three times a week until I'm satisfied you're back up to your usual physique. If you don't want me checking all your vitals in person every week, you have to wear a monitor so I can keep an eye on you. And I want you to see a flight therapist as soon as possible."

 

Kirk frowns as his friend lists out all his restrictions. "A flight therapist? Bones, that's for people with wing injuries. Mine are brand-new. There're plenty of teenagers out there who never needed a doctor to use what the x-gene gave them."

 

"Yeah, and if they were your first pair, I'd be fine without it," McCoy snaps, shutting him up. "Flight therapist. At least one session. Also, no alcohol or caffeine until I clear you for it."

 

"What the hell am I supposed to drink?" Kirk complains, although it's more to wind up his friend than any real annoyance on his part.

 

"Try water. It's good for you," McCoy says as grumpily as possible. "You gonna take the monitor?" he asks, holding up the wristband. It reminds Kirk of old prison anklets he's seen in ancient history.

 

"So you can spy on me everywhere I go? Sure, why not." Kirk holds out his arm, and McCoy fastens it around his wrist, snug but not tight enough to affect his circulation. Stupid thing, but it beats doctors hovering over him if he so much as sneezes funny.

 

"Great. Get dressed and I'll get your discharge papers." McCoy drops a bundle of clothes on the bed next to him and leaves, as if Kirk cares about having privacy.

 

It's kind of weird, going back to civilian clothes. And he's lost a few pounds since he last wore these jeans, so thank goodness for belts. His boots still fit, but the shirt... Kirk turns it this way and that before he figures out how exactly the whole thing is supposed to work. He checks around himself to make sure the area is clear, and slowly extends his wings, stretching muscles he's never used before the last few weeks. Feathers rustle against each other as they unfurl to their full span of eighteen feet, trembling a little at the unfamiliar movement, but it feels _good_. Natural. Something that has always meant to be.

 

He pulls the shirt over his head and lines up the slits in the back with the base of his wings, pleased and completely unsurprised to find that Spock's measurements for his clothing alterations were bang on. He connects the fasteners at the bottom to keep the whole thing from flapping around, and voila, Captain Kirk has successfully put on a shirt. He deserves a medal or something.

 

After the shirt, the jacket goes on easier, now that he knows how the whole thing works. He relaxes his wings again, carefully folding them back up until they're snug against his back. It feels a bit weird with fabric and leather in the way, but he deliberately shudders hard enough to get all his feathers to ruffle, realigning them so it feels a bit more normal. _Figuring out how to shower with these things is going to be interesting._

 

McCoy re-enters the room, looking somewhat pleased that he's managed to do all that without knocking anything over or failing Putting On A Shirt 101. "Here you go, Jim," he says, handing over a padd. "Sign right there and you're free as a bird."

 

Kirk's head snaps up so fast that it's a wonder he doesn't get whiplash. "Oh my god, Bones, don't even start."

 

McCoy just smirks and pats himself on the gills. " _You_ started it, four years ago. Consider this my long-awaited revenge, featherhead. Sign the damn padd and get out of here. I have actual sick people to see."

 

This time, Kirk does roll his eyes, but he scrawls his signature on the padd and gladly heads out of the hospital. Or so he intends. He reaches the elevator, but rather than head down to the ground floor, he turns his face upward, contemplative. What if...?

 

Before he can change his mind, he presses the button for the top floor.

 

_Bones is gonna kill me,_ he thinks, but just can't bring himself to be worried about it. There's a strange fluttering in his chest as he finds the door for roof access, and emerges into the sunlight. His wings spread slightly, involuntarily, relishing the warmth of the light falling on them, and the wind ruffles through his feathers and makes them stand on end. It's an entirely _alien_ sensation, fresh and new, a siren's call to take to the air.

 

"I could just go back down normally," he says out loud, tapping his fingers against his chin. "But there are probably reporters staking out the hospital. Decisions, decisions."

 

Kirk moves to the edge of the roof, looking down and across San Francisco. There, about two miles away, he can see the glint of sunlight off the windows of his Earthside apartment building. It's not an entirely straight shot from here to there; a few high-rise buildings stand in the way. Perfect.

 

He looks over his shoulder, and spreads his wings again, giving them an experimental beat. Part of his physical therapy has been to practice the natural movement of his wings, but thus far it's all been in slow motion, taking it easy, getting used to the way they move without any real intent to fly. It would be crazy to try to run before he can walk, right?

 

Kirk takes a few long steps back. "Sorry, Bones." And before he can change his mind, he bolts forward and leaps into space.

 

For a long, terrifying moment he begins to fall. Then something _snaps_ into place in the back of his head, and instinct takes over. His golden-brown wings spread wide of their own accord, catching the air, changing his fall into a glide. He touches down on one of the high-rises, and the forward momentum is more than he was ready to compensate for, sending him stumbling and falling flat on his face.

 

_Ow._ Kirk quickly pats himself down. McCoy will _never_ forgive him if he hurts himself immediately after leaving the hospital. But fortunately, aside from a few scrapes on his palms, he's uninjured. He gets to his feet, knees shaking a bit from the adrenaline, and eyes the next high-rise. _Bet this time I can go even farther._ He takes a running start, flapping his wings, and soars off the roof of the building. Warm air currents billow upward from the streets below and he turns into them, catching the lift under widespread wings as if he's been doing it all his life. _Flight therapist my ass._

 

He turns toward his apartment building, cycling between a steady glide and spiraling upward on thermal air currents. His wings are shaking with exhaustion by the time he reaches his balcony, his chest muscles aching from the unusual exercise despite only lasting a handful of minutes, and he bangs his face into the sliding glass door on landing. But as crappy as his body feels, he's never felt so _alive_.

 

"I made it," he says out loud, barely suppressing a whoop of joy.

 

His communicator chirps in his pocket, and even the knowledge that McCoy is on the other end isn't enough to dampen his grin. _Damn you, medical monitor, you snitch._ "Hey Bones, what's up?"

 

" _You are, you absolute madman! What the hell did you think you were doing?_ "

 

Kirk can't resist. "Just catching a flight home, that's all. I'm still in one piece, promise."

 

" _Goddammit Jim!_ " the doctor rants, and Kirk just tilts his face up toward the sun and laughs.


	17. Lessons

For a man who was so eager to escape from the tedium of Starfleet Medical, Kirk is surprised to find that he's actually _more_ bored as a mostly free man. With the _Enterprise_ in drydock for repairs and his crew scattered across the planet to visit family or take care of Earthside business, his routine is so disrupted that it doesn't even exist anymore.

 

But James T. Kirk is not a man who likes to mope around.

 

To his credit, Pike actually looks surprised when the young captain drops into his new office one day out of the blue. "You want to teach a class?"

 

Kirk shrugs, stretching out his wings a little to cool down after the flight over. It's getting easier every day to take to the sky, and each day he can go farther without getting tired. He's not even winded, much to his satisfaction. "The _Enterprise_ is going to be out of commission at least until the next semester is over, and to be totally honest, sir, I'm driving myself crazy with nothing to do. Might as well do something productive, right?"

 

Pike looks impressed despite himself, and gives Kirk a mock suspicious look. "Who are you and what have you done with James Kirk? You couldn't wait to get out of the Academy so much that you skipped a year and made captain before you graduated."

 

Kirk smiles a little. "A lot has changed since then, Admiral," he says, giving his wings one last shake before folding them against his back. "I'd like to think I'm not _entirely_ the same cocky asshole you met in that bar in Riverside anymore."

 

"No, just mostly," Pike says, and Kirk knows him well enough to know he doesn't mean it maliciously. "You know, when I told you I admired your tendency to leap without looking, I don't think I had the roof of Starfleet Medical in mind."

 

The captain huffs out a laugh, unsurprised that Pike's heard about that by now. "Me either, sir. It just kind of happened."

 

"You're not gonna teach _that_ to the cadets, right?" the old admiral asks dryly.

 

"Hadn't planned on it. I was thinking something in command track, actually. Risk assessment and resource management, or something like that. The importance of knowing as much as possible about your ship, your crew, your crew's abilities - both in terms of mutations, and their learned skills. Not to mention the possibility that you may one day be in a position where the best possible decision is one that may result in your incapacitation or death, and how to face that."

 

Pike looks up at him with a frown. "You're not going to tell them that you died. That's still classified."

 

"No, sir," Kirk agrees easily. "But it's not classified that I _nearly_ died saving the ship. And it's not like it's the first time I've risked my life in the line of duty, either. I seem to remember being ordered to space-jump onto a teensy tiny target to plant explosives onto a drill during day one of actual field duty."

 

The old admiral gives him a look. "At the time, I'd hoped that would be extraordinary circumstances, you realize."

 

"Isn't it always, sir?" Kirk counters with a grin. "We're Starfleet. Risk is our business. Sure, it's not always genocidal time-traveling Romulans with a grudge, but sometimes it is. A Starfleet officer's got to be ready to face anything, no matter how weird and out-of-nowhere it is."

 

Admiral Pike just shakes his head, unable to argue with that. "Before I sign off on this, I expect you to submit a lesson plan and some idea of how you're going to grade student performance. No handing out easy A's for attendance."

 

The young captain puts on his best wounded expression. "Admiral, that hurts, right here," he says, thumping a fist against his chest. "You know me better than that. If I didn't get any breaks, I'm not about to hand them out like candy. No one'll pass who doesn't deserve it, because that might get people killed later down the line. I take my job _extra_ seriously, sir."

 

Pike sits up a little straighter, and Kirk resists the urge to fidget under his gaze. "I suppose you do," he says quietly. He's looking at Kirk almost like he's never seen him before, and it's not hard to guess that he's just been reminded that the young captain actually, literally died to save his crew. It's something that Kirk himself has a hard time wrapping his brain around, sometimes.

 

Well, that's about enough of that. "I'll submit my lesson plan by Friday," Kirk promises, snapping off a salute that's just shy of regulation. "Doctor McCoy says I should officially be off medical leave at the end of next week. Gotta tell you, I'm really looking forward to it. Recuperating is _boring_."

 

"Boring, but necessary," Pike says, tapping his cane against his desk. "Don't take it for granted." He considers something, and leans forward a little. "Have you been out to the shipyards yet?"

 

Something in Kirk's gut clenches a little at the thought of his ship, lying wounded in Riverside, her own recuperation slow and tedious. But she'll fly again one day, just as her captain has. "Not yet."

 

"You should go. I think it'll be good for you. She's come a long way since your crew brought her home." There's an unspoken _as have you_ , but Pike just leans back in his chair again. "Besides, once the semester starts, you're going to be way too busy to go check up on her. And maybe having you there will stop Lieutenant Commander Scott from pestering everyone with his retrofit ideas," he adds dryly.

 

"I don't think _anyone_ can make Scotty stop annoying everyone with technobabble," Kirk says fondly. "But yeah, I see your point." And if such a trip might also be beneficial for banishing his own personal demons, not to mention those of some of his crew, neither of them mention it.


	18. Rebuild

This is not the first time the drydock at Riverside Shipyards has cradled the _USS Enterprise_ , returned to the place of her birth. Where once she lay sleeping, waiting to awaken as engineers and technicians built her from the inside out, now she lies in pieces, wounded and broken, as her caretakers slowly, gradually put her back together.

 

It's a sobering sight as her captain glides overhead, slowly wheeling around as he rides on the breeze, taking in every dent and scratch on her battered hull. _Marcus sure beat the shit out of her._ He clenches his fists and banks steeply, descending toward the _Enterprise_ 's saucer until he touches down, taking care to flare his wings just before landing. Her hull is warm under his boots, heated by the sunlight shining down overhead, and he reaches down to touch her metal plates with his bare hands. _You'll be all right. We'll go up again, you and me, together._

 

"Captain!" The call is faint, nearly snatched away by the wind, but as Kirk looks over the edge of the saucer he sees a spot of red on the ground, far below, waving at him.

 

He doesn't even stop to think about it before he leans off the edge, letting gravity take over just long enough to set him gliding down to land far more gracefully than his first attempts. He doesn't even stumble this time. "Hey, Scotty."

 

Scott's face is paler than usual, and he curses under his breath. "You practicing to give Doctor McCoy heart attacks, sir? Don't _scare_ me like that."

 

Kirk opens his mouth, not even sure what cocky comeback is about to come out, but there's genuine _dread_ in Scott's eyes that he's not doing a very good job of hiding, and the captain's smile melts away before it truly begins. "Sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out," he says, and all at once he's not sure if he's talking about now or when he lay dying in the warp core.

 

The chief engineer doesn't seem to know either, because he gives an awkward cough and doesn't meet his captain's eyes. "Come to check up on the repairs?" he asks instead. "We're making good progress."

 

"Yeah, I thought it'd be a good idea to see how you're doing. She'll fly again, right?" Kirk asks, and that's the right question because Scott's fear dissolves as determination takes over, putting that spark back in his eyes.

 

"Aye, sir, that she will. Better than she used to, I'd say, not that there was anything _wrong_ with her before," he adds hastily. "The upgrades have been approved and they're right on schedule. Especially the... warp core improvements." There's a slight hitch in his breath in the middle of the sentence, like he just remembered who he's talking to.

 

"I want to see it," Kirk says, and blinks in surprise because that is _not_ what he'd planned on saying. And yet now that he has, he recognizes that it's really why he came here, isn't it? To face the spot where he bled and died for his crew, his family, and... what? Vanquish its power over him, purge it from his nightmares? It sounds corny as hell in his head, and he's sure not going to say it out loud, not in so many words.

 

Apparently he doesn't have to, because Scott swallows hard and nods. "Right then," he says, only a slight tremor in his voice. "Let's go." He keeps up a running commentary as the two officers enter the bowels of the ship, trekking through corridors far too quiet, absent of the hundreds of souls that make up the true heart of the ship. Kirk listens with half an ear, nodding in the appropriate places, and an icy coldness begins to grow in his stomach as they approach engineering.

 

Kirk is standing in front of the glass door without recalling quite how he got there, looking down at a rusty brown stain just inside the containment chamber. _Here lies James T. Kirk,_ he thinks to himself, struggling with an entirely inappropriate urge to laugh at the absurdity of standing at his own grave. Behind him, Scott has gone silent, and in the reflection Kirk can see him wringing his hands helplessly, a suspicious dampness in his eyes.

 

"I died here," Kirk says slowly, letting the words roll over his tongue, as if he's still unsure of the taste. Scott makes a strangled sort of noise, but the captain doesn't turn around. "It still doesn't seem real sometimes, you know? Like it's something that happened to somebody else, because I'm _here_ , aren't I?"

 

Scott clears his throat, then again for good measure. "It's far too real to me, sir. It's seeing you up and walking around with _those_ ," he says, jabbing his fingers toward the captain's back, "that's the part I cannae believe some days. Like you're some kind of bloody angel."

 

Kirk puts a hand on the glass, and a flicker of a memory calls to him, of seeing a shadow on the other side of the barrier and reaching out to touch it, the last human comfort he would have before he died. "I'm no angel, Scotty. Just a guy with a habit of leaping without looking." He turns now to face the engineer, his back to the place where he died, putting it behind him physically and metaphorically. _Kadiith_. What is, is. "I don't regret what I did. I'm just sorry you had to watch." He pauses, reconsidering. "And for stunning you."

 

Something dark flits through Scott's eyes for a brief moment before he shakes his head, letting out all his breath in one go. "Apology accepted, captain."

 

"Good." Kirk allows himself to smile now, and steps forward to clap a hand on the engineer's shoulder. "Because I need a favor. You did a great job with the redesign, but there's one thing you forgot. I find myself in need of a new command chair," he says, cutting off the engineer's outraged protest before it can begin, replacing it with a baffled look. "Something with a lower backrest. I don't want to sit on my primaries."

 

Scott blinks, so thrown by the request that all he can do is huff out a laugh of disbelief. "Aye, cap'n, I can see why that'd be a problem. I'll make it top priority, shall I?"

 

"I knew I could count on you," Kirk says with a grin.


	19. Rededication

Life goes on.

 

To his surprise, Kirk discovers that he actually doesn't mind teaching all that much. Grading papers is boring as fuck, of course, but the debates and discussions his lectures provoke are nearly always thought-provoking for everyone involved, him included, and there's never any shortage of cadets seeking a word with him after class to talk about it more in detail.

 

At first, he's fairly positive that most of them are either star-struck or just want to gawk at his wings, but as time goes on, it becomes normal. Routine, even. Sure, it's no space exploration, and every night he dreams of soaring up out of the atmosphere and out into the black, but it's something interesting to do while he's Earthbound.

 

And hundreds of miles away, his favorite lady is slowly coming to life under the talented hands of the Starfleet Corp of Engineers, and of course Montgomery Scott. Until one day the news comes across his padd: the _Enterprise_ will be ready for shakedown in one month. And next week, there will be a ceremony to rechristen the ship, and remember those lost during Harrison's rampage.

 

Harrison. Not Marcus. Never Marcus, not in public. It's one aspect of the official story that Kirk will never be okay with, will never accept, even if he plays along in compliance with his orders. And that's only because it was Pike who commanded him to do so.

 

Whoever decided that Admiral Pike should be the head of Starfleet was one crafty son of a bitch.

 

The evening before the ceremony, the command crew of the _Enterprise_ join their captain on the beach to watch the sunset. McCoy visibly breathes a sigh of relief the moment he smells the sea, plonking himself down in the sand next to Kirk. "You sure know how to pick 'em."

 

"Thought you'd like it. I brought beer." Kirk smiles at his friend, wings mantled behind him to catch the sea breeze.

 

"Looking good, captain," Sulu says with a cheery smile, snatching up one of the bottles for himself as he joins them. "It's been a long year."

 

"Yes, it has. How've you been? How's the family?"

 

"Doing great. Demora just turned two last week," the helmsman says, already reaching for his personal padd to show off photos from his little girl's party. "And Ben's got an interview to take a job on the _Yorktown_ on Tuesday. Don't suppose you could pull any strings for us, sir?"

 

"Would if I could," Kirk says with a grin, and makes a mental note to mention it to Admiral Pike the next time he sees him, just in case. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Chekov looking around for them, and he waves him over with a wing. "Hey Pavel, glad you could make it."

 

"Me too, keptin. Starfleet has kept me so _busy_ the last few months!" Chekov groans dramatically, taking a seat in the sand, but he's broadcasting too much boyish happiness for his complaints to be as dire as he's trying to make it sound. "It will be wery good to get back into space again."

 

"You said it, laddie," Scott agrees as he arrives, and makes a face at Kirk's choice of beer. "Cap'n, really, no scotch?"

 

Kirk just shrugs and tosses him a bottle. "It's not really a beach drink, Scotty. Unless you want sand in your glass."

 

Scott shudders dramatically. "I see your point, sir."

 

Once again, Spock is the last to arrive, though this time he's shoulder to shoulder with Uhura, walking along the water's edge. She gives the Vulcan a kiss on the cheek before they alter course, intercepting and joining the rest of the command crew under the orange glow of the setting sun. "Why haven't we done this before now?" Uhura asks. "It's not like we haven't had the time."

 

"Because we're all idiots," McCoy grumbles immediately, not meaning a word of it.

 

Kirk raises his beer in a salute. "I'll drink to that." Seeing his crew again, his friends - no, his _family_ \- loosens a knot in his chest that he didn't even know he had. He's silent for several long moments, rolling the cold bottle between his palms as he considers what to say. "I don't think I ever properly thanked you all for coming to visit me."

 

"Sir," Sulu says, his tone clearly expressing the opinion that the captain is bonkers for even suggesting otherwise, "you jumped into an active warp core for us. We should be thanking _you_."

 

"Don't encourage him," McCoy says dryly, taking a long pull from his own beer. "Damn fool still doesn't know when to quit."

 

"How about we just call it even, then," Kirk suggests. "And on that subject, if you have anything to finish in the next month, better do it soon. I have it on good authority that once the _Enterprise_ is certified fit for duty, we might not be back for a while."

 

Uhura perks up, immediately catching onto his meaning. "They're assigning us the five-year exploratory mission?"

 

"So I've heard," the captain says knowingly, and behind his back, Chekov and Scott exchange a high-five in mutual excitement.

 

"A fascinating prospect," Spock says, sounding pleased. "To be offered such an opportunity is a great honor. It is a mission of unprecedented duration."

 

McCoy doesn't look nearly as excited. "Five years? God help me." He doesn't, however, say that he's not coming too, just as Kirk knew he wouldn't.

 

"We'll still be checking in regularly, right captain?" Sulu asks, looking down at the picture of his daughter on his padd.

 

"Absolutely," Kirk agrees immediately. "We won't be able to visit often, but the new subspace communications system means weekly messages should be more than doable. And the _Yorktown_ 's bound to be one of our regular resupply stops. Also, there _will_ be periodic shore leave or I'm sure I'm not the only one who'll go nuts," he adds, elbowing McCoy, who rolls his eyes right on cue.

 

"I know I'm going to regret this."

 

"Come on, Bones, what's the worst-" Kirk begins to say.

 

"With all due respect, shut up, captain," Uhura interrupts, smacking him in the arm. "Don't jinx us before we've even left the planet."

 

"Aye aye, ma'am," Kirk says with a grin, miming zipping his lips shut. "Shutting up now."

 

Spock raises an eyebrow. "Such a thing is also unprecedented. Truly this mission is one for the record."

 

"Very funny, Spock."

 

Together, they sit and watch the sun sink lower on the horizon, spilling warm red light across the beach until it deepens to purple, and finally to black. And above them, one by one, billions upon billions of stars blossom overhead, shining brightly through the night, beckoning them into the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap on this part! I am not done with this universe, not even remotely, but daily updates will probably slow down a bit after this point. I plan to go through some other, shorter stories, including giving a few episodes the AOS/Mutantverse treatment (Mirror universe crossover, baby, so looking forward to that), and eventually I want to tackle Star Trek Beyond, although there isn't as much in that movie that I need to fix for my own satisfaction.
> 
> Thank you everyone so much for reading and reviewing/giving kudos along the way! I'm so happy that you've enjoyed the story so far, and hope to see you again when I upload the next installment. Live long and prosper!


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